a poem a day for a year #77

by Amy Turn Sharp


there was a St. Patrick's day in the nineties where
we lost each other in a crowd in a major city
I screamed out
be safe
don't go

but you did not echo back to me
my hair was wet with watery beer
my heart unbuttoned and hither hope mad
I walked into a new pub


under the messy evening of unfamiliar
after you told me how pretty I was
after I put spells all over your body
traced your tattoos with my little finger
there was a moment that I took a mental photograph
you wore black combat boots
you left them by the door
leaning looming
they looked so big
like installation art

I opened the apartment door
people were still milling about in the street
loving each other and the whole damn world
kneeling at the altar of Jameson


I whispered into the dark
be safe
don't go


but you were long gone
somewhere else
across town
making polaroids of other things
taking off your green