Paul Vanni
I remember when she and her
girlfriend took me, when I was
six or seven, to Chicago’s Field
Museum of Natural History.
The years have slipped away.
When I was a teen, she purchased
a home several blocks up the street
on which my parents lived; knowing
this I stopped in now and then to
Visit her, even after I moved away
from my parents; in truth, I called
on her more frequently; she was very
close to her mother, grieved greatly
Upon her mother’s passing, often
saying that her mother had been
her best friend; finally it hit me
just how depressed she really was.
She had two dogs, one a Saint
Bernard, the other a little furry
mixed breed of uncertain heritage;
on her piano she once played for
Me; I forget the song she played,
only that her voice was beautiful,
clear, and that her little furry dog
accompanied her with a howl that
Reminded me of the bloodhound
my grandfather had once owned.
The years have slipped away.
She suffered migraines, which left her
bed-ridden three or four days a week.
Somehow I never came by while she
was laid up with one of those awful
Headaches; despite our difference in
age, we began dating as fall arrived,
dated for several months, went out to
dinner and movies, one Saturday night
To a classical music concert in Grant
Park, on a Friday night to another
classical music concert at Orchestra
Hall, to a play performed outdoors off
Lake Michigan; but I failed to interest
her in taking in the fresh air one takes
in at a ball game in Wrigley Field.
I broke off contact ultimately, telling
myself I couldn’t deal with her grief,
her depression, with the migraines.
The years have slipped away.
I told myself in ensuing years that slipped
I was afraid of what my family, what others
would say about me getting involved
with a woman twelve years my senior.
I recollect her once expressing concern
that I was still undecided as to what my
path in life would be; somehow I felt
she too didn’t want to get too involved,
Notwithstanding those nights we spent
passionately kissing when she dropped
me off after a date; once or twice she
told she still had my baby picture in her
Wallet, the photo my mother gave her that
day she and her mother saw me baptized.
Yes, so many years have slipped away;
still come times I regret losing touch
with her; when those memories call on
me, I recognize, have the realization:
She’s the woman I should have married.