Remembrance

A poem: Part 4

That which has been and whatever will be,
we have little control over either.
But this that is now, directly within reach, 
is here for the lovers or dreamers.

It was her idea that we went for a drink,
high on lucking out with the work trip,
and the boost of clients who loved us,
in this, the greatest of all cities.

At home we’d never have done this,
i’d be surprised if back there she’d even 
knew more than my name, barely given
me a second thought, more's the shame.

But here we were, in the ‘Half Pint’
Greenwich village, chatting and flirting.
Like young, teenage, college students:
hungry with hope, possibility, ambition.

Yet I noticed how I wasn’t listening
to what she was saying. Only looking 
at the possible memory that, right now, 
I was hungry to be making.

I was wracking my mind for that
something, wild or dripping with meaning. 
The thing that would become ours
irrespective of what happened upon leaving,

heading back to our lives. I was losing her. 
I could see that, my lack of engagement was, 
for her, a sign of indifference, she was
poised to cut this and our glinted memory adrift.

“ Let’s find somewhere different “ was
all I could muster - and to be
frank, it did me no favours to this 
unintentional, yet  indifferent, demeanour.

But as we pushed into the cold 
city-night-air we simultaneously felt the
pricks of ice upon our bare places whilst looking up to
the snow and onto each other's wide smiling faces.

Don’t force it. Capitulate.

Greenwich Village, New York. November 2018. Nikon d750