What made my heart ache
towards High Heaven
last Saturday night
was adolescent--a young lad’s eyes
following a girl
waiting to grow tall enough to win her
or just to earn a smile.
They called it puppy love back then:
the knights would try it in King Arthur’s day.
It was always from afar.
A stolen glance, a face for which a man would kill
if only to escape his adolescence.

Sarah Maria had a length of silky curls
that touched her knees.
A smile, the sea-washed eyes,
hip-sway, head-toss,
blood rushing to the cheeks
of me, this silly boy
biding my time in my boyish dreams...

“I like you,” Sarah Maria said,
to me, one day in Math.

After sixth grade, I ignored
those dreams already scared
when Sarah Maria’s Father began interrogating--
boys, scared stiff from the thought
of Her Father’s questions. I sweated much
facing their door with uncertainty.
I focused on the knocker,
leering in its gold confidence,
laughing because she touched it every day.

Nights, I lie awake
waiting
for Sarah.

Revised Dec. 2002, for clarity