“Yes, I’d love to,” I replied,
one warm October morning,
thinking “He’s just my type.”
Autumn gave it up for a winter
wherein we wore penguins on
our chests. Mine, slightly hairy
and mostly grey. Yours, smooth
as a wet whistle. Back home, we
poured colorful gumdrops into a
tiny Spanish bowl. “Hola, señor-
ita!” he’d smile as he’d say.
“Would you like a gumdrop?”
To which I’d reply, “Always!” –
not knowing any Spanish.
“Forever is a mighty long
time,” we’d both think. How
alarmed we would have been
to know during those faraway
moments that, even then,
such synchronicity already
existed between the two of us.
