N.A.M.I.

N.A.M.I.

you
were a
cincinnati
streetlight I ran
into while trying to
navigate a new corporate
world. you played a bongo
on your patio deck
and told me
you
couldn’t dance.
so I showed you the
steps and frame of a waltz
in my living room. with friends,
you showed me downtown,
offered me a mountain
dew, and we walked
in dripping parks,
green, humid.
you
weren’t ready
for a relationship,
but you kissed my
cheek in the diamond
of the empty baseball field
near my house, and
again on the front
steps, in the
sunshine.
you
would call
sometimes, years
later, to see how things
were going and tell me you
weren’t so good yourself. so
you can imagine my shock
when I hadn’t heard from
you in a while, and I
looked you up and
saw an obituary
and a place for
donations
in lieu of
flowers
for you.

Archive picture of original published page at GFT Press: