{kupod MINUTE poem, remember, from kus talk of school reunion} the thin man, half himself wearing the same voice was unknown to me until room for two said (much later) did you know. (sic.) The one always hunched who spoke to his fingers in numbers? No, nor of the one in Africa on some mission or those two with askew smiles whose tumors lived off of them during math and pep rallies in closets where bad genes ace their every exam. And the one I envied most big-breasted with a college boyfriend she then married, fairy tale beginning then middle. Candles around their pictures thirty feet from where we worked our drinks with atavistic zeal. One called me a black hole, the other I confessed my crush to who could not bring himself (way back then) when he stared at my back in English to ask my front for a date. His loss, I thought, later noting my dress was on backwards. Flames and young faces from the yearbook. How the reunion grows and grows from the ground up.
Posted on: Fri, 09 Jan 2015 07:05:57 +0000
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