My Friend Has a Lover She Meets in Europe
She sends pictures of him posed in doorways,
red pants and full lips and
the scarves that men wear in far off places.
It reminds me, at 3 am, of assignations: conversations
in summer windows and
ardor stoked on a midnight roof.
My friend has a lover she sees in France.
He boards the train from Morocco to meet her there.
Amidst ambles on cobblestone streets and
the ample glasses you drink when not at home,
they share secrets in gulps--
like submerged bodies wrestling
the turgid water,
lungs ballooning with fervor
nearly bursting before breaking the surface.
My friend has a lover she meets in Europe.
I am as if a passerby,
in furtive glances,
the active seconds and unassuming weight.
Stateside, her musings will paint him in a corner--
so sure of where he belongs.
While my mind goes to things that linger,
memories that leaked,
etching their own course through time.
My friend has a lover she takes on her travels,
ever confident the ride lasts but
only so long.
Suzanne lives outside Richmond, Va., teaches creative writing at Richmond Young Writers, and works as a private tutor for academic writing. She is the founder of Hip Green Scene, online travel guides for urbanites and adventurers @hipgreenscene.com
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