She Has A Present For Me

It’s the last of April.

I ride my bicycle on the little dirt road by the canal.

It’s my birthday today.

She has a present for me.

 

The sky is clear. No raging planes.

Just endless and blue. Not even clouds.

I imagine her in her navy blue dress.

I imagine her with a bow in her hair.

 

No guns now. I try to think about before.

Just think of the endless and blue sky above.

And her in her prettiest dress she still has.

Her wild, dark curls tied up in a red bow.

 

14, me and her, passing on to another world.

14 and not children but not our own people.

We’ll listen to love songs on a phonograph.

We’ll talk about getting married in Paris.

 

It’s my birthday. She loves me. I love her.

The war is over. She has a present for me.

A present made by her own hands.

A present she made just for me.

 

It’s the last of April. Almost there.

I can see her sitting on the front steps.

In her navy blue dress, red bow in her hair.

Box in her hand, wrapped up, waiting for me.

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