By: Keddy Outlaw

 

I wanted to tell you about how
I saw you walking down the street
in Montrose one cold March day,
your long hair blown back,
your red & black checked jacket
loose and open.

I drove around the block
& back again but
you were gone, but
you were everywhere I went
the rest of the day, smug
& laughing at the world,

You who are still true
to yourself & still live
in a risky neighborhood
& stay up late reading
philosophy, anthropology
and the tabloids.

Once when we were both
invited to a wedding you said
“No, I don’t do weddings.”
And next comes the part
about how I’ve never gotten
over you, but that’s not true.

I crave only
the danger of you.
It pops open in me
like a switchblade,
it bubbles as good as
even the cheapest champagne.

I wanted to tell you
how seeing you
took away my peace
& made me unsettled.
I wanted to tell you
we never said goodbye.

 

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Bio: Keddy Ann Oultaw is a mixed media artist, blogger, book reviewer and retired public librarian. Her poems and stories have appeared in various literary journals, Papier Mache Press anthologies and other collections. During the summer of 2011, her solo collage show was featured on the Caladan Gallery website. Her work is also available via taostaos.com and Saatchi Online. Outlaw lives in Houston, Texas with her husband.