On Loving a Young Man
by Alice Friman
One day when I am ninety-one
you will look at me from the doorway,
leaning with your head tilted to one side
and I will wonder if you remember
how I too used to lean
and laymy hair down black
and whispering on the pillowcase
fresh from the wash, or how later I would turn
tucking my knees under yours
for the night's insensible hours.
And if I haven't forgotton--my mind
gone blank as a sheet
I'll remember you then of the old amazed look
your face wore once at how much
your hands already knew
and I will call you back
from the doorway
to adjust the sweater around my shoulders
the robe in my lap
and take your hand, upturned in mine
to show you how that line is still there:
the lifeline I once traced with my nail,
that day on the bench by the Ohio River
that first time, When I-troubled-leaned
my head on your shoulder,
sideways, the way I do now
and you will then
Taken from the book
If I had my life to live over
Editd by Sandra Haldeman Martz
Papier Mache Press--Watsonville, California 1992
