THAT DAY WE LAY UPON THE GRASS
That day we lay upon the grass,
A luminescent green.
The sparks that arced from arm to arm
Across the space between.
Our bodies quickened by the sun,
The willow leaves aflush.
The sunlight sparkling on the lake,
Our blood bestirred to rush.
Up and down the parkway, flowers
Enticing with their blooms.
Our loveless winter ended there,
Emerging from our tombs.
For we had slept as sleepers slept,
Unmindful of the world.
Astonishingly we awoke,
Much like a rose unfurled.
(2015)
Some 42 years ago I worked as a journalist for a community newspaper in the suburbs of Minneapolis. I still have my pocket appointment calendar from that time. Along with recording the times and dates of city council meetings, photo ops, and interviews, it documents the progress of an uncanny romance.
We were two weary pilgrims, up to that point unlucky at love, but brought together by providence.
The calendar entry for Saturday, July 3, 1982: “Bike ride, sunning.” And then, emphatically, “1ST KISS.”
I’m a big fan of July 4th, but July 3rd is my own personal holiday.
Poetic Champions 