The desk on which I wrote first poems <br />Six-liners, desperately in love <br />The LPs carried down the street <br />In case we met, I might impress <br /> <br />Her with my fresh scrubbed face <br />I wished for glasses much less thick <br />And hair more so, and darker yet <br />Waiting for Saturday to come <br /> <br />Imagining with whom she'd leave <br />The taste of Kiddush on her tongue <br />For some smoky mysterious pub <br />Or movie house, or music club <br /> <br />She seemed so self-possessed! <br />Was she? Her poem said <br />Sometimes I wish I didn't see. <br />Living would be so easy. <br /> <br />Her perfect face, perfect to me <br />Swelled bosom, page-boy hair <br />Soft eyes, why did she wish <br />For blindness nonetheless? <br /> <br />Not a single kiss, in truth <br />Not even one caress! Just one <br />Slow dance in the shul: <br />So Long, Frank Lloyd Wright - <br /> <br />I still know every note. <br />And then she rode off for the night <br />And for the rest of time <br />She vanished in the world upon <br /> <br />Whose surface, in whose face <br />I would never find her trace <br />My friends, laugh all you can <br />I wonder if she made it through <br /> <br />And thought of me again. <br />I seek her still, so that we may <br />Compare our poems, our notes of grace, <br />And all the people we became.<br /><br />Frank Bana<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/first-crush-for-vanessa-wherever-she-may-be/
