the purple stain had become part of the pattern

something ignored by those who daily passed

only in my mind is it a memory of something so much more

we sat on pillows, our legs crossed, our hands fumbling for things to say

i wanted to hold and kiss you, but i was afraid that

you would not respond, that you … oh, the love of you

the music had been carefully chosen, soft jazz, piano

you had mentioned his name and i had listened

wanting so much to please you and so, so much more

we talked of school, the teachers we liked, kids we ignored,

and laughed at jokes we’d heard and quoted

snatches of songs as if there were secrets in poems

i had swiped a bottle of cheap burgundy

from the closet where my parents hid their secrets,

boxes of yellow photographs, and memories of youth

we poured two glasses, just half — the way adults

we had watched would do, swirled, inhaled

the cut-rate alcoholic fumes, laughed the way adolescents do

perhaps it was too much wine or too much more

the bottle upended, the wine spilled, the stain

my mother could not remove so we left

a remainder of youth embarrassed, of young love,

of someone i would never forget,

and of something so much, much more.