ON A SUMMER NIGHT, 1957
It is never the same, is it? The moment when
in love, the instant when you know nothing else
only how you feel about her, whether or not
reciprocates. Perhaps she will, if not now, then
in the fixed future, and if she does you will have
stored in your memory box, though you will
others, perhaps––even think they are interested
but that first moment will never disappear while
in your mind. I remember my first date with Jane
it was on a summer night when her brother, Dick
(my best friend),
and Roger, another friend of ours, and I were just
around the rec room of Dick and Jane’s house––
Jane and I
knowing each other for nine years but never dating––
but that day
her cousin and a friend were spending an overnight
so, with all of us in the rec room, all six unconnected,
Let’s hit the road, go somewhere fun. We did,
to The Cabin,
a teenage roadhouse in Cromwell, Connecticut.
I asked Jane to dance with me to the song Tammy,
I fell in love with her, that quickly. And I never
even though we had to conquer some obstacles,
and we did,
lived as man and wife for 50 years, until death
did us part.
I have to comment on this for more than just liking the poem so much, but because it speaks to me personally — only in my case, it was 1951, and 57 years till death did us part — mostly in Sherman, CT. The parting came, however, in NC. I wish more poets would allow themselves to be “accessible!” Thank you.
I appreciate very much your comment.
Who was it that said narrative was done? And what did he know anyway?
Well done, Ron! Heart-stabbing, but beautiful in its truth. Thank you for sharing.