Moment of Affection

Often there is one moment,
One instant of perfection,
Never the snapshot I expect,
Always recognizable immediately

I’ve been in love three times,
(maybe three and a half),
So these glittering seconds are minute,
Well polished,
Brooded over for meaning,
If any at all,
I’m sentimental.

Number one:
1976 and we were hippies.
A humid July afternoon,
A hidden path by the railroad tracks,
Brambles, blackberries, and babies,
Warm peanut butter sandwiches in waxed paper bags,
Palms sticky and purple with juice,
Knowing death was eminent,
Happiness was desperate.

Number two:
1979 and we’re punk dykes,
Cold evening in Chicago,
An apartment near the lake,
You crossed the snow swept street,
To fetch two slices of cheese pizza and grape soda,
We couldn’t afford a whole pie,
Greasy fingers – we played Gin Rummy,
The wind blowing and blankets piled over our laps..

Number two:
2009 and we ‘re middle-aged queers,
Crossing Market Street to walk into the Mission,
For groceries for a dinner party,
Greens, apples, and tamarind,
The orange F cable car is ahead,
Flanked by Twin Peaks and the Bay,
Where we have fucked – the city is our bedroom,
Knowing that everything ends.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
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