"Nobody can write a new fairy tale ; you can only mix up and dress up the old, old stories, and put the characters in new dresses."

 -- Andrew Lang  

Signs

Do you remember the day I gave you the bouquet?
Of yellow roses blushing pink at the tips of their petals
And deep pink-crimson ones
Arranged to match the pattern on the antique china vase in which they were set

Yellow roses turning pink
mean friendship turning to love
I didn't know that at the time
But it was right

Nor did I know
that they were your favorite rose
But that, too, was right

I didn't know, still, which one you meant
So I gave you another one of each
another time
And asked which was your favorite
You pointed to the yellow and pink one
with your little finger
and a little tremble in your hand

We sat together that day at the ice cream parlour
you fidgeted and fussed, and put on the scarf I'd complimented before
then took it off
then put it back on again
and arranged it to look pretty
You glanced at me, and then away
and then at me, and then away

Did you ever realize
that just after you met me
was when you caught the bouquet at your cousin's wedding?
The picture is gone now, but I still remember the proud, shy smile
Half-playful
But half pleased and wanting to believe that it truly did mean something
And the caption: "High time!"

Do you remember the last day we were friends?
The day I gave you the basket full of rasperries
that I'd picked myself
washed, and sorted
dried, then carefully arranged in layers
with wax paper and tissue paper in brilliant aquamarine blue
to match your eyes
and a ribbon of the same color wrapped around the handle
and tied in a bow

Do you remember, as you left the party that day
after coming to say goodbye to me on the front porch
where I sat, smoking my pipe
the way you looked at me
over your shoulder
as you walked away?

Still

I was thinking this morning
that it's time to move on.

I still love you.
I always will.
I'll never love anyone
Like I've loved you.

But I could find someone
to love with a different kind of love.

But then I'm out
I'm surrounded by beautiful young women
And all I can do is imagine you
Walking up to me
Saying Hello
Like you did on that cold Midwinter evening in Staunton.

"Hi, Mike."
I close my eyes.
I hear your voice.
I see your smile.

"Hi, Mike."
I've never particularly cared for my own name.
But I like it when you say it.

I close my eyes.
I hear your voice.
I see your smile
Your blush.
I feel the warmth of your presence
The glow of your femininity.
I sigh.
I stand and leave.

"Do not be afraid, for she was destined for you from eternity. You will save her, and she will accompany you."

 -- Tobit 6:18