No Where Near
(In memory of Janis H.)
Sticky, sweaty, Houston hot –
summer of '77.
We biked on trails, until two boys
on banana-seat bikes veered
and your peddle caught one of theirs.
Behind you, I watched
as you flipped, spun into the air,
then landed – plop! – beside the trail.
When I got to you, you couldn't stop laughing.
I bent, kissed your beaded-with-sweat lips,
and congratulated you
on the best bike wreck ever!
December '81:
Shadows played on the far wall,
while on the phone, droned
a voice so irritatingly calm.
In the semi-dark, I sat
on my-then girlfriend's bed,
in a relationship that I knew even then
was ebbing towards its end.
Over the phone,
the mundane details of your death.
Where: in Swaziland, a Peace Corps volunteer.
How: a single-vehicle accident.
Some truck you'd hitched a ride with
had a blow out, and you were thrown from the bed.
Janis, you fell into the African sky.
but this time when you landed, I was no where near.