I remember
a girl named Marilyn
Her flaming red Irish hair
was a mass of tumbling curls
Her face a wild`flower field of freckles
Her eyes sparkling green as the Aegean
She is on the swing at recess
her dimple-kneed pumping
pushes her sky-ward
in laughter

And once
behind the backstop
she gave me my first kiss
The innocent kiss of curiosity
as though kissing were a new alphabet
and lips awkward new writing utensils
It was for her a first-grade rite
of passage but my first taste
of Eden’s hard apple
sweet softened

I remember
eleven years later
seeing Marilyn walking
with a football player His hand
upon the thin bra-strap across her back
as though to say her form were now his
Her red Irish curls still tumbling
across the wild-flowers
The emerald eyes
still sparkling

Ancient memories are beyond all reason
The heart holds on where the mind drifts


About Peter Notehelfer

I'm a retired people person who now finds the time to watch the little details of the world without worrying about being watched by anyone . . . I live on an Island north of Seattle with my wife named Ellen, a yellow dog named McGee, a yellow cat named Gatzby, and four fine chickens . . . I read fiction, bake bread, smoke salmon, and fish whenever the weather allows . . . Oh, and yes, I try to write a poem every day simply to avoid senility!
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Marilyn

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.