Long Yesterdays Ago

She will walk into a bookstore
Scanning titles in the cooking section
Selecting Caribbean Grilling.
Checking her watch
She turns toward the cashier.

Near the register
My book of poetry leans
Like a drunken sailor
On shore leave.

What poor conversationalists are books
Incapable of dialogue.
But oh, they flirt!
Demanding attention
Chattering endlessly
Pleading to be chosen
Taken home…
Like she did me
Long yesterdays ago.

Her heart flutters
Body warms
Trembles.
She smells the pages
Wanting me in the scent
Papery pure.

Remembering.

Lifting my book
She reads the dedication
To One Whose I Am
Whispers my name
Phonics unspoken for years.
In her sweet voice.

Her fingers trace the curves
Of my written name
The way they smoothed my skin
Caressed my face
Lying in her lap
Long yesterdays ago.

She cannot take my book home
Cannot have it on the night stand
Hidden under linens
Behind the shoes.

Dangerous.
The dead must remain dead.

My book of poetry
Inspired by her
My muse
Is rejected
Shunned
Title reversed on the shelf.
She cannot allow it to watch her exit
The way she did me
Long yesterdays ago.

But she remembers.