Let’s be still, scream if it helps, join the rain
pounding these streets. It’s all wrong:
we can’t sleep, can’t wake, making
love is a seizure and the sheets bind us.
But here now is darkness, here now
night falls and makes us quiet.
After a time, we lose track, the head nods,
we acquiesce. We knew what was
coming: now, then now, then too late.
When I was young, I waited for
you in an abandoned building
in the French Quarter. I remember
it was crumbled in plaster and stitched
with sinuous vines. That night the trees
were suspended from the moon; they
hung like seedbursts that had dropped
from the sky. I waited late for you
and heard homeless boys sing
their made up street songs, and saw
an old man, unstrung, dancing
streetlight to streetlight, at night,
under a black umbrella. You never came,
but I was grateful you let me think
you would be there, inside the stuccoed walls,
on the humid cement, and how it made me want
to be where I was. I waited for you and time
dissipated like blood in the ocean.
Mike Forecki lived and practiced law in Eau Claire for more than 30 years. He now divides his time between the St Croix River on the Western edge of Wisconsin and Florida’s Southern Gulf Coast. For more by and about Mike, see his author page at VolumeOne.org.