07.04.11 / 2:15 am

it was the night of the homecoming dance.
i stood on your porch rubbing my hands together,
trying to work the cold out of my joints.
i didn't want to meet your parents -
this was before i grew up
and meetings-of-the-parents
became just a small part in a much greater process.
back then, i didn't need to worry
about the cleanliness of my apartment,
or whether i had an extra toothbrush,
but the cold and your dress
and the discerning stares of your parents terrified me -
to this day, i still don't know what they thought of me,
my inexpertly tucked shirt, my approximation of wit
because you broke it off less than a week later
and, after, we rarely spoke.