St. Valentines Day

Dressed in red, like red wine,

she was all valentine.

I saw – too late to see –

which hand struck me,

and brought me to my knees.

It was St. Valentine’s day;

she was dressed all in red

like a bottle of wine,

and my momma said,

she was all valentine.

Dressed in red, like red wine,

she was all valentine;
she stood before me like a story
I had read, but not believed,
and I sighed deep, relieved
to know that I would not be alone.
She stood, by a yellow sky outlined,
as weighty drops of light fell like stones
and lit her face, then mine.
She was dressed in red, like wine,
and she was all valentine.

***

I was walking in an alley,

and she was walking

close, right beside me,

smiling and laughing, singing our song.

The moon above was passing

into the womb of dawn;

my hair was wet and white;
my feet, bold and light;
my heart, full and strong –
when with her, I was a King,
and she, like unto a queen –

I was forever young,

squinting in dashes of daylight

as she kissed goodbye the night –

everything was wrong;

everything was right.

I saw shadows behind me,

and lied about my youth;

I heard voices before me, shrill, frightening –

but not quite their meaning –

because, when with her,

my world was always spinning

too fast for listening;

too fast to tell the truth.

I heard too late to hear it;

I feared too late to fear it.

I thought this was our song, 

but I knew – all along –

you can change the music, but not the lyrics.

I saw the sun above, and read it;

but it was easy to forget it –
to every question, she was the answer.

I believed, with love’s faith, in her.

Perhaps, she knew; perhaps, even, I did too,
but neither ever said it,
and I could not admit it.

I remembered it was day,

and was surprised – I was not tired.

Her eyes turned sudden grey,

then blue, like friendly fire,
and blazed like diamond's glistening.

I started to say something,

but looked over, and found nothing

interested her; she was not listening.

I felt, at my back, a cruel wind

mingled with her whispers,

and I asked absently, “What am I doing here?”

and I recall, just then, she yawned –

and then, right then, I knew – a night was gone

that would not come again;

a dawn had come that would not ever end;

I saw her smile, but she did not see me,

and the Sunshine made her sleepy.

I heard, behind us, some men;

their very breath was threatening.

Before I knew it, we were surrounded;

their taunts in the alley resounded –

and without thought of life or health,

I started fighting – for her, for us –
for hope, and love, and trust –

but never for myself.

My life concerned me little;
she concerned me, little else.

I fought, and bled, and fought more,

and the only thought that filled me head

was, “Is the girl safe? Will she be well?”

And there, of a sudden, I fell

in a puddle of Sunshine, like one dead,

and I remembered what my momma said:

her hands were red, like red wine, 

and she was my valentine.

I saw too late to see

the hand that struck me,

but her hands were red, like red wine, 

and she was all valentine.