Flashback

the concrete was sun warmed grit beneath me
the wind sudden tugs of hair and shirt
the crowd scattered across the steps
in small groups, like sandpipers on the beach
listening to the music
I glanced over and saw those wrists
upturned like an offering,
fingers curled in, the rhythmic pulse
following the dance of the marimba
and it was you,
like a strobe in my mind
the pattern of movement went off
flashback whole and complete,
the scent of you
the feel of your skin,
the salt tang of you on my tongue
and then gone, lost to me again
and I don't know whether to be grateful
or angry

copyright 2001 - jem moore