Candice James, Poet Laureate Emerita
New Westminster, BC CANADA
Saturday, early evening, December;
neon moon glinting buffed beams
polishing icy blue diamonds
to a fine glitter and shine
on the glazed street below.
We lay in creamy contentment
on the soft satin duvet
lost in the lush velvet voicings of sinatra
and the echo of our heartbeats
as the snowflakes drift and fall…
drift and drift and fall
On that cold December night
in a summer state of mind
I looked into your eyes
and saw the promise of another sunburnt july
chasing wanton teardrops
across a pale blue sky
Then came January evenings.
Evanescent moons and ice glazed stars
dripping silver sequins and stardust
onto the checkerboard squares
we circled with such eloquent ease.
And then the sudden freeze.
Years later, alone on a sailboat,
drifting aimlessly off the southern edge
of the Florida Keyes
I keep running the film
backward and forward.
Forward and backward.
What I did and didn’t do.
What you did and didn’t say.
Not knowing then or even now
what you were thinking
Tonight,
inside the cabin
there stands a framed photo of us
entwined, smiling,
glinting beneath the neon moon of another night;
and on the table,
a stack of love letters I wrote …
but never did send to you.
Earlier today
I was writing yet another letter to you
pouring my heart out
eyes wet with regret
kissing the tear stained pages
and all the while,
knowing
I’d never send them to you.
And now,
in the worn crease of another lonely midnight,
I reach for my guitar
and once again I become the carefree gypsy singer
you fell in love with long, long ago
on a cold December night.
I imagine you, tonight,
high up on a mountain
on the other side of the world
where the snow is softly falling
and I wonder …
if you’re remembering too.
I want to tell you everything;
but even now,
after all this time,
I can’t.