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Moon Hair
She had the moon in her hair
I'm sure its beams played there
because they loved her too
transforming their own grey light
indeed
transforming light itself
from that smile of her's
into noon at midnight.
She sat there in moon-white
her dress a sliver-white
asking if I had a girl friend
her voice parting the Carolina night
and I reply
'No, not now...'
'You and she...'
her voice trailed off
and I could only let
silence
invade that space
flummoxed
by that question
unable to speak
because what I wanted to say
was that I loved her
but could not;
she too embraced that silence
judging
she had been forward
taking my silence for embarrassment
or worse
lack of interest
retreating then behind
that silent shroud
we all sometimes
draw over ourselves
when emotions are in doubt.
Her father called then
and I rose
to leave for college
that very next day
never seeing
her again.
Opportunities
its seems
become real
only when
we are prepared to leap
into the moonlight
dark
and embrace
silver hearts
at their offering
call.
poem
by
Lonnie Hicks
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