afternoon in the stillest apartment, brown furniture and the last rays
of grey winter sun.
steven tanned so thoroughly in summer, with lively hair burnishing
and smooth cheeks matching. green-gold eyes and long shy
eyelashes. it seemed he'd never lost his baby teeth; his permanent
ones had the spaces between like a child's, and he smiled lots.
we were quietly crazy for each other; best friends guarding a secret,
but we didn't know what the secret was. it was a bond of class, of
poor white child and striver brown girl in a crowd of
accelerated-track geometry jewish kids who really liked us but
couldn't really have us over. we kept each other up on the tele-
phone many nights, daring curfew givers to stem the flow of conver-
sation about
teachers and camping, politics and friends.
such a delicate alliance, and completely unspoken. i don't
remember ever kissing him before then, full on the mouth, or after.
he was anxious at the beginning, acting as host to his own
coronation -- or execution --
ushering in quite deliberately this critical rite.
and he trusted me to make it painless, harmless, to be his ally.
laughing a little,
gasping,
working,
making our way
to the other side
we stayed naked under blankets for a long time, knowing that we'd
never lie that way again. recognizing my need for flashier lovers and
knowing his demons were just at the door. such a sweet, still time.
sticky and cool.
i told most people everything, but that afternoon was religion,
meditation, and could not be translated to the profane.
i'd like to do it again.
(c)Toni Wynn 1993
from the place within where the universe resides
the Shakespeare Press Museum
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