*Magnify*
SPONSORED LINKS
Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1919429
Rated: 13+ · Prose · Personal · #1919429
Glimpsed through naked branches the memory of you in Springtime wavers. May in the year...
Bare branches

         Suzanne

Glimpsed through naked branches the memory of you in Springtime wavers: May in the year I turned 11, the year I dreamed of living in Tennessee, dreamed of following Thor Heyerdahl around the world. In December I sang "Stille Nacht" in class ...in German.

That year you turned 11 too, before the leaves turned yellow in September. Sparse memories of horse chestnuts and the awkwardness of pre-pubescence. I had nothing to offer you and even looking back through the kind eyes of time ...I had nothing to offer.

No surprise you rejected my fawning crush. In the following years I couldn't even speak in your presence. I knew your neighbors, made friends with young men our age who lived on your street, road past your house on my red bicycle, walked past through quiet snowfall of winter and the quieter fog of May. I never walked up to your door and knocked.

The trees of our old neighborhoods were naked those Novembers and every November since. Their cold bare branches still cast shadows through my thinning hair.

© Kåre Enga

[168.242] #29 November 21, 2011.

Note to self, previous versions: Glimpsed through naked branches the memory of you in Springtime wavers. May in the year I turned 11, the year I dreamed of living in Tennessee and following Thor Heyerdahl around the world. In December I sang "Stille Nacht" in class ...in German.

The year you turned 11 too, before the leaves turned yellow in September. Sparse memories of horse chestnuts and the awkwardness of pre-pubescence. I had nothing to offer and even looking back through the kind eyes of time ...I had nothing to offer.

No surprise you rejected my fawning crush. In the following years I couldn't even speak in your presence. I knew your neighbors, made friends with the young men our age who lived on your street, road past your house on my red bicycle, walked past through quiet snowfall and the quieter fog of May. I never walked up to your door and knocked.

The trees of our old neighborhoods were naked those Novembers and every November since. Their cold bare branches still cast shadows through my thinning hair.
© Copyright 2013 Kåre Enga, P.O. 22, Blogville (enga at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
Log in to Leave Feedback
Username:
Password:
Not a Member?
Signup right now, for free!
All accounts include:
*Bullet* FREE Email @Writing.Com!
*Bullet* FREE Portfolio Services!
Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1919429