Girls and Women
Where we walked along beside the church,
the first time you held my hand.
A note I never read I wonder what it said.
I still love you like this.
The older girl I wouldn’t kiss.
The sweet Irish cherub who also coloured her bliss,
gave me shells from a country she sometimes missed.
I still love you like this.
A girl who was black from Ponook Road,
a girl who could dance real close on good floors.
A girl from camp, a girl who rode a horse,
a girl who stopped playing drums and made me a man
a woman who rode a night-hawk.
At Jan and Dan’s House of Clam.
A girl who was mean but made good love,
who was young and foolish, I forgive.
A woman who loved me more than well enough,
a heart I still doubted and sometimes miss.
Please be free. I was wrong. Not to believe.
I hope she still jumps with a strong parachute.
A woman who told me her heart was chocolate
A woman who came to me in the night like a dove
A woman bound for New Guinea but met me off course
A woman who was broken, and a woman who nursed.
An Azeri shawled beauty, an Iranian in a hot dressI waited to say I know I love you like this.
Canadian SME International Trade and Marketing - writings upon readings and continued curiousity in the realms of cross cultural business. Some of my opinions are not my own, but I would fancy to say nearly all of them should be credited to the various authors. Deming disciple. I stubbornly persist.
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