Panic in your face, you write questions
to ask him.
When he arrives,
you are serene, your fear
How unlike me you are.
After the dance,
I see your happiness; he holds
Though you barely speak,
your body pulses messages I can read
all too well.
He kisses you goodnight,
his body moving toward yours, and yours
I am frightened, guard my
tongue for fear my mother will pop out
of my mouth.
"He is not shy," I say.
a little girl again, but you tell me he
kissed you on the dance floor.
"No, a lot.
We ride through rain-shining 1 a.
I bite back words which long
to be said, knowing I must not shatter your
moment, fragile as a spun-glass bird,
you, the moment, poised on the edge of
flight, and I, on the ground, afraid.
Maria Mazziotti Gillan
Copyright © 1995
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