with me on the subway. The way you’d give up your seat for the elderly,
the way you’d hold the bar to steady yourself with those long fingers
curling over themselves. I dream of those fingers. Today, I thought I’d get the courage to get off at your stop, walk beside you,
ask your name. Perhaps you’d invite me to the corner coffee shop to get
to know me better. We’d smile and you’d laugh at my lame jokes. Today, I watched instead, as you smiled at the woman from 8th Avenue Q
when she entered. She’d made her way to your side, eyes shining with the secret
of knowing you. I could see she was your intimate connection. Today, I lingered over your retreating figure as you walked away holding her hand.
You weaved through the crowds as we made our way to familiar destinations.
I watched longingly as you shrank from my life. Today, I observed a new man enter the train, tall and cute with stubble on his chin.
His boyish smile I found endearing and perhaps, today, it will light upon mine.
We’d make love between my pink sheets. He’d sigh happily, exhausted,
spent—holding my gaze with those expressive blue eyes. Today, I exited at my stop, walked past boyish and lamented that handsome
has come to an end. It’ll be a long walk home. Then I’ll feed my cats,
take out the TV dinner, pour a glass of wine and ponder missed possibilities
as I watch Cary Grant re-runs. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll change.
~Torie Amarie Dale
Published in Iodine Poetry Journal 2014