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4/14/80: Fort Smith, Arkansas Stephen Gardner
Twenty years ago today I turned Twentyone. Strange how the memory goes And comes as it will, how I still clearly see Some faces, hear some voices now and then, Yet have forgotten others, recall but parts Of people I'd have bet my future on. My first real date, with no parents To chaperon, was Randy Clark, I think, Both thirteen and walking to the movies Downtown Friday afternoon. In the back Balcony, Randy didn't care a damn For army dialogue, just wanted his hand Under my blouse, happy if his thigh Could squeeze against my knee, wrinkling The skirt I'd stayed up half the night before To press. I gave in to his leg, but not His hand. His body has no face any more, But he lives on, headless, in my waking, In my memory's wandering. Not long after Was when Mother told me that the first time Would be something to remember to my grave. Well, here I am, halfway there, and memory Has carried another boy beyond my reach. He's just a smile now, Hank DuPree, a flash Of pain I'd rather have done without, rough Skin, twisted and cramped in a car seat One could barely sit in, much less two make love. Three years later we eloped. And now he's gone As quickly as he came, more easily Than I made the lie to tell my folks About the twisted strap and dirty hem. And that is how I remember all of them. from This Book Is For Eva
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