Michael A. Flanagan


fifteen, in love for the first
time, you’ve just said good-
night, hugged, kissed, hands
entwined, the back of your
fingers touched her cheek.
walking the close, clean
blocks toward home, it’s
dark, late, end of october,
the crisp air in your lungs,
it feels like life itself. with-
out concern for what eyes
might be watching, you
jump, touch a brown leaf
on a tree limb. full of joy,
you begin to run, the air
on your face, ears turning
red, nose icy numb.... you
never would have guessed,
all the years left to come,
and nothing in any of them
would ever be quite so
perfect as that moment

about the author


13.1 (Fall 2008)   The 2River View