It’s not like you lived down the street, instead it was a drive and a ferry reservation and,
well, time, you know? and who had any of that once the kids came, so we faded from
each other’s lives. Perhaps it was uncomfortable amongst the balanced circle of pairs.
When you finally visited my grown-up suburban home you pinched my elbow
and whispered You have a really beautiful home, Annie. I suppose a far cry from the
peach and electric blue walls of my bedroom we painted that one summer.
Earlier, we’d combed Vancouver’s streets; looking for ourselves in the racks of A&B Sound.
You looked effortlessly cool in your fringed suede jacket, the one Chris teased made you
‘Bono’s girlfriend’; but I was still young enough to put a boy’s judgement ahead of my own.
We came back to our studio apartment one day after trying on perfume at Eaton’s, a long trek
on the 120 bus in those days, and were told by a hometown boy it smelled too sophisticated for us.
I wonder if he ever understood that that was the whole point?
Now, I can’t remember all of our secrets, our jokes, or the ingredients in the love potions we made
in my back field, my brain choosing to drop all those important things; leaving me instead with
unhelpful knowledge like the movement rules of chess pieces.
Your Mom used to make us french toast when I slept over; which seemed very gourmet to a girl
from Dove Creek; but I remember whispering in the dark, staring at the Duran Duran posters,
safe in the warm nest of your room.
I asked if you’d be around when I came to town on the weekend … but you said you already had plans.
This poem was published Dec 16, 2025 as the Poetry Pause (poem of the day) by the League of Canadian Poets.
*Artwork credit: chess moves, Alison Farrer
