Your Broncos and My Wharton

I turned on the Broncos game earlier tonight.

I don’t know,

It seemed like the thing to do.

I guess it’s the Super Bowl today but

We both know I’d rather be watching

Artistry although you’d argue this is pure



I gave up by halftime.


Isn’t it funny to think about

That this time last year I wasn’t staring at the screen but

At you.

Isn’t it funny to think about

Today was the first day our lips

Brushed and in seconds my world

Blossomed open like a massive calla lily,

Overtaking the oceans and the trees

And miles and miles of breathing land,

Stealing the air from my lungs

From yours from everyone’s.


Last week I visited the spot where you were

Trying really hard to make me laugh.

Snatching glances and small remarks,

Taking my hand only after I conveniently left it

Out in the open warmth just where your

Fingertips would land after you finished gesturing.

You taught me about the birds and I thought

You were so smart, so intelligent

Like you knew the world and I wondered at the

Look in your eyes and anticipated your words and

I couldn’t do either.


I sat there by myself reading

Ethan Frome  like an outcast

While two old men I pretended were

Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald

Sipped something behind me and talked about

The kids running in the sand on the beach-

All these people who don’t know you in a spot

So extremely molded into place,

Into my mind, by you-

And I wondered at what they probably whispered about me

While I whispered meanings into my book

About you.


Later I gathered that your intelligence was a

Propaganda on me.

There are many types of boys and you were the type-

Are the type-

That needs to be admired to admire,

And the moment you saw reflected in my mind

All the thoughts and the questions and the things you

Couldn’t even believe I knew,…


I sat there by myself and I bet

You thought it was all about you.

It wasn’t about the waves kissing the toes of little ones

Like you should have kissed me,

It wasn’t about the way Ethan looked into Mattie’s eyes

And it wasn’t about old men who

Sit on park benches and ponder life through

The rendering of what I expect to be vodka.

You’re wrong

Because I didn’t remember you until

I had this phantom feeling someone was reaching for my hand.


I watched the Broncos today

And I’m curious,

What team did you pick because when it came to sports and everything else

For about a year I let you decide

Who I wanted to win.


This piece was originally written in February 2014.

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