Christine P., if you read this, i still remember you
more than i should
more than you know
you have never strayed far from my mind,
eclipsed between
my waking memory and a smoky dream
i remember you in Sixth Grade,
passing steaming notes to me
during study hall, stealing kisses from me
at recess, making out with me
behind the convent during lunch and
teaching me more about a girl’s body
than a 12-year old boy should know
i remember caressing your
budding pincushion breasts, feeling your
impatient tongue in my mouth, and tracing the curves
of your smooth hips way up
beneath your plaid Catholic skirt
i never forgot the innocence and curiosity
with which we explored each other’s
young bodies for few of my intimate
encounters since have bested those wide-eyed moments
i never forgot you, Christine P.
not with all the drugs and heartbreak did i forget!
the mother of my daughter even
resembles you; my final recollection of you -
the way you looked
before you moved away - with her
short brown hair, velveteen belly and
agile, eager hands
i remember telling you once in a letter
that i wanted to marry you
and that’s when we lost touch...
maybe i’ve ploughed thru each
of my liaisons
searching for you all along
in an attempt to reclaim that
feeling of complete gullibility and virtue
for my love life has left little more
for me to discover
you were indeed my first, Christine
while you did not surrender me your virginity,
you gave me your body to tease and your mouth to enjoy
and i wonder if your first time was as clumsy as mine
was it on your honeymoon cruise or
in the backseat of his beat-up Ford?
did you marry at all or keep your maiden name?
do you remember me as well as
i remember you?
because i wonder, too, if you will
ever find this poem,
hidden amongst the weeds of
other poems to my bygone girlfriends
whose names have scarred over
and faded with time