david.hedges.name

The Eternal Years Are Hers

The Eternal Years Are Hers

It wasn't that she looked twice
in my shy direction, though I knew
she did, and she knew I looked back
through air fogged by my obvious
breath, there at the school bus stop
as she swung books behind, off
down the hill, or that a kid I knew
said she did things I could only
vaguely conjure, there in the heat
beneath thick winter blankets,
hand on my new manhood;
it wasn't that I saw up her skirt
on the tree house ladder that sultry
afternoon, past heels the pink
of plum blossoms, aglow like rose
quartz pebbles turned round in a
mountain stream, past tanned calves
golden downed as no one I knew
had told me they could be, past
backs of knees, thighs that parted
like parentheses as she took steps
with motions I could only vaguely trace
through senses dulled by pounding eyes;
it wasn't that she wore no underpants
beneath her light print skirt, or that later,
in my room at home, when she pulled on
a pair of my jeans and slipped her skirt
high over her head, her cotton sweater
rose in slow motion, and she wore no
bra, and her breasts shone with a clarity
I could only vaguely re-create, there
in the heat between thin summer sheets;
it wasn't that we touched fingertips
on the path to the tent in the woods
behind my house, brushing aside the low
limbs, our thighs parting the ripe grass,
the hair on my tanned arms standing
straight out in the charged air, her
laughter flashing at the spark, the sun
soft through fir boughs, the tent hot,
its olive weave alive with effervescent
stars above the wood and canvas cot, or
that she smelled of wheat straw and honey;
it was that my jug-eared little brother
squealed, then danced at Dad's heels,
hollering about how he'd seen me sneak
inside the tent, and how I had a girl
with me, and how I was bound to be
in trouble now, that bends me to her will
in dreams, a slave to the way she places
kisses on my face, her soft lips fluttering
like butterfly wings, her fingertips,
light as breezes, tingling my thighs
as the tent falls, and I, like the walls
of Jericho, come tumbling down.