Is This What Love Songs Are Made Of?
By Lynn Ciesielski
At Dad’s shop picnic, only time I tasted
anything better than Fanta red pop
or cream soda. I gave him my number
over a birch beer,
We toasted August, chrome dragonflies,
Chevy’s union and fate that brought us there.
His curls, a gold that paled daffodils,
rolled me down hills, spun me around carousels.
For days his name wrote cursive trails, waltzing
through my mind’s dance floor.
Half a moon later he phoned, just as the trails
stopped at a wall.
I’m pitching tonight. Come watch.
Three suburbs over, ninety minutes by bike,
further than I should go, I arrived
just in time for the final out.
I flew toward him, arms open
and kicked dust till words rose.
You just got here, he said, leaning into me.
A year older, he must have had some practice,
so I hid my surprise when his tongue,
like a slice of mango, slid through my lips.
To keep my teeth open, tongue unmoving
was harder than pedaling uphill.
LYNN CIESIELSKI will read from and sign copies of her new poetry collection “Two Legs Toward Liverpool” (Main Street Rag Publishing Co.) at 7 p.m. Wednesday at the Daily Planet Coffee Co., 1862 Hertel Ave. (at Parker Avenue). A former special education teacher who has devoted herself to poetry since retiring from teaching, she is also the author of “I Speak in Tongues” (Foothills Publishing, 2012).