Square One
When the sun shines like this, I think about Atlanta,
about the first time I met you and heard you laugh.
I'd be making things up if I described what you wore,
a sun dress, I guess, but your shoulders were bare
and brown and the sunlight reflected off of you as we
walked down the street, two amid a pack of colleagues,
true, but I remember that moment with you. I remember
you seemed so comfortable and happy. So present and
pleasantly in place on a sunny day, walking in Atlanta.
Who is to say if that is where this began at all or if
point A must necessarily have led to point B? If nothing
else, it helps define a path we've walked, most in light,
some in shade, but I can say with glad certainty that I
remember that day, that I noticed you. I noticed
your smile and the sunlight on your smooth, tan shoulder.
And on bright days, like this day, with the blue sky and
the skyline, I turn and look back. Who wouldn't look back?
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