She hung onto my sleeve

She hung onto my sleeve

allowing her tears to fall onto my jacket

(I suppose it is a small price to pay for this cruel reality)

I could sense she knew the ways of lovers

and the way lovers smile

and how they say hello and how they will whisper goodbye.

As she struggled to find some comfort

her lips rested on my wet shoulder

and there were a few mumbled words

a tug of my arm and her hand on mine

and I allowed her fingers to find my palm.

(It was a simple gesture of kindness)

I consciously stiffened as I began to clear my throat.


– Chris George

August 1981  

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