CRUSH

I remember thinking—she’s different.
She’s graceful. An outcast drifting
beyond the net where the rest of us
learned to swim.

I remember her every angle
walking down the sloped green lawn
the trail of her silk black hair tied to the wind
laughing a secret song.

Maybe she’d love me.
Show me how to grow
into my heart before
I learned to run from it.

That we’d fold like curtains
to hold the morning for ourselves.
It wasn’t long before I asked her
to the dance.

​Even less time passed
before she said, no.
I guess that’s why it’s called a crush
​A lesson in loving and letting go.