Valentine’s Day Twice

That Valentine’s day she woke up
Knowing that he was close by, on the same street.
The evening before had not gone to her plan.

Her plan was not to see him at all.
She had sensibly and sincerely
Pushed all obsession and thought
Into the arena of the imagination.

He was not interested
or so it seemed
And she was unavailable,
or so it seemed
And there it could have remained
Impasse.

But that evening in the late 1990’s
He arrived at her door and she
Opened to his face – touched
By his thoughtful
bottle of Red and bottle of white.

Who would have thought they would drink
Both.
Make love on the front room floor
And lose his pony-tail band
In her Father’s slipper – for him to find
Puzzled the next day.

This really was not her plan.

They talked and talked
About the letters she sent from 5000 miles away –
left unanswered and she thought unwanted.
Who knew he liked them?
Eventually she gave up
Sending them.

Somehow they kissed
she really didn’t orchestrate it.
Did he know? Did he plan it?
Did he fore-think they would be
Together on a blanket on the floor?

This was a turning point
This was the end of one marriage
And the beginning of another
Turning on a sixpence.

The next day was her Father’s birthday.
Everyone ate his pickled walnuts
And he didn’t get one.

Her Father continued to tell this story,
The Story of the Selfish Children
For the next seventeen years.

I wonder if he also told the story
Of his daughters
And their dates to this seventieth birthday party
One adulterous, one with a married-man.

They awoke in each other’s arms
On Valentine’s morning
Wondering what came next.

Knowing they had begun
Something
Not knowing what
Not having planned it
Who knew?


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