Memory Poem #8: Cyan & Jillian: Morning Run

Cyan met Jillian in the hallway
for their early morning run.
She looked sexy in tight-
fitting sports attire.

He recalled her knocking
on his door late last night
while he was satisfying
himself and how he told her
to go away.

A little embarrassed, he said,
“Sorry about last night,
I was tired.”
“It’s OK, no prob,”
she said, turning pink.

Confused at the time, 
she had called Jess,
who had suspected
what he would’ve been up to
after an unfinished
make-out session.

Cyan stretched his arms and legs
while enjoying the morning breeze.
Jillian followed suit,
listening to the music
of the ocean waves.

She glanced at Cyan –
his hair ruffling in the wind,
and she smiled to herself.
Doing something she loved
with someone she started to love
was a beautiful gift.

“I’ll race you,” he said.
“You’re on.”  Jillian sprinted
along the beach, kicking sand
behind her.

Cyan watched as she ran
gracefully, happily
through the sand.

He admired her buttocks
moving forward and back,
but forced himself to focus
on her ponytail instead
swinging back and forth
like a pendulum.
Cyan was hypnotized
by her.

Jillian felt electricity
shoot through her body,
tingling her heart,
as Cyan brushed
against her arm,
catching up to her.

“Hey Beautiful,
what are you running from?”
he teased.  She blushed.

Cyan slowed as they jogged
by a juice stand.
“Let’s stop here,” he said.
Jillian tilted her head in question.
“They have the best pineapple juice,”
he chirped, like a little kid.
Jillian grinned.

Realizing that his pocket 
was empty, he looked at her
sheepishly.  
“Can you spot me?
I forgot my wallet.”
Jillian paid for the juices.

He was right.
The juice was sweet, magical,
refreshing.
The liquid slid down
her throat, flowed through
her veins, and touched
her heart.  She savored
every last drop
before they kissed.

StockSnap_MYTDB6EMBF
image from StockSnap

Read more of their love story here.

The Encounter

Last month, I attended Poets at Play for the first time at the Markham House in History Park, San Jose.  It was nice to meet a small group of poets and spend a nice afternoon writing and discussing poetry.  The theme for the month was “memory.”  I was able to write two poems that afternoon and I will share one with you today, the one I didn’t read out loud.  A poet suggested writing memory from someone else’s perspective, so I decided to write this.  I hope you enjoy it.

The Encounter

Coming out of the trashcan,
I felt my fur on end…
a pair of eyes watching me.
She was there, the human,
looking at me, watching…
my every move.

I jumped back in,
I jumped back out.
I poked my head
around.
She was still there
watching me.

I scurried down the trashcan.
I scurried up a tree,
found a little nook
that was comforting to me.

I lost sight of her.
She lost sight of me,
or so I thought,
until I felt her eyes
once again, watching me.

I pretended not to see.
She pretended to let me be,
walking away,
so I could enjoy my day.

Maybe a squirrel and a girl
could be friends.

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Bridal Memories

You open your eyes
and awake to a sunlit room
with birds chirping in the sky
and your sweetie sleeping
next to you.

Lying on clean sheets
with double happiness
signs above you.

Listening to his breathing
puts you at ease.
Last night’s memories
feels like a dream.

Your light blue veil
billows in the wind,
your dress train cascades
on the lush green grass
as you walk down the aisle,
arm and arm with Dad.

Sparkling smile,
sparkling dress.
He takes your hand,
you look into his eyes.
You exchange vows
over the beautiful reservoir
under the bright blue sky.

Kissing under the gazebo,
hand in hand, man and wife
walk down the aisle,
greeted by family and friends.

Laughter, chatter,
photos galore…
bits and pieces
come back to you…

The promises he made
while he held your hand.
The promises you made
while looking into his eyes.
The toast your best friend gave
that made you want to cry.

The first dance
in your wedding dress.
The first bite of cake
you tasted together.
The little girl
that caught your bouquet.
All the little things
that he said,
that she said,
that they said
were cool.

Your hair feeling
like a bird’s nest.
You can barely walk,
but everyone says
you’re beautiful.
You have 51 bobby pins
in your hair,
and you just don’t care,
dancing to the music.

It’s all so surreal,
but it’ll definitely be captured
on the highlight reel,
as you look back on yesterday
and smile,
lying next to your sweetie,
today, tomorrow, and for the rest
of your life.

bridal-memories
photo by Michael Keel