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Giuliana.
Giuliana.
I remember when you were mine, when you were tiny, when you were brand new, and even your parents didn’t know who you were.
And I danced around the hallways of the hospital, with you, in my arms, in my pocket, in my blanket, you were safe. You were sound. And I fed you with my heartbeat.
Giuliana.
Giuliana.
I remember coming to the house when you were sick, drinking you juice and putting the cold rag to your fevered head. And you blinked your eyes each time I whispered your name.
And I let you stay up and look at the late movie with Peter Boyle. And you wanted my Coke. And I told you I would love you until the end of forever.
Giuliana.
Giuliana.
I remember your holy smile in the dark auditorium. And the look on your face when you held your award. And I didn’t cry at all, Giuliana... I swear to you I never cried, not even one bit.
And Giuliana, just- I wonder where you are, if you are alright. I hope that on stormy days in May you think of me.
For the summer days we spent chasing dragons in the grass when the sun wouldn’t go from the sky.
This old man is no poet. But I had to write this to tell you: you are still mine. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Love... until the end of forever.
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The sign, it said: “Abortions- 50% Off,” so I turned to her and said, “Honey, let’s do it. Let’s now get it done.”
She looked up and laughed, “I’m not even dressed...” but I brought us to the parking lot, past the protestors with their dire signs and cardboard warnings, into a gravel spot beside the building dusty.
Inside a woman named Patty offered us hot chocolate and Thin-Mint Cookies, a gift of the girl scouts... We were well on our way to a lovely day, to a memory we could cherish forever, something we could tell our grand-neighbors about.
We wouldn’t have to do it if I had stayed in our bed, if I could have resisted the soft folds of her satin sheets. And we wouldn’t have to do it if her denim skirt had been six inches longer. Fabric was to blame... we probably would have had a kid....
In the waiting room she leans back and tells me, “Bogart is my favorite ‘High Sierra’.”
And I say, “I know, baby, I know that...” And now my heart is scrambled eggs.
On the way back stopping off for cantaloupe, and watermelon, and pineapples. “Life is a farmer’s market,” I said, but she just laughed and rolled her eyes. We made it home and played the ‘Airplane’ DVD. Kids fly free...
When the shit hits the fan...
And now we’re on board this flight together, and I’m praying that God will land us safely.
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