Lokni

Oh my mountain darling, why don't you come down,
slide down that grassy slope?
Just for a little while, come play with me..
Hide-and-seek around the tiger lilies, snapdragons,
Blind Man's Bluff; chasing you through the trees.
Oh Lokni, you make me feel
excited, silly like a child.
And I'm not embarrassed by
the strawberry jam blush
sticking to my cheeks.
After all, you did say
you thought I was cute..

And maybe when we're not around anymore
and this town has become some big metropolis;
billboards, cars racing; everywhere, noise;
maybe someday I'll look back on those
enchanting June days and say, "Maybe
she was the one, all along."
Maybe I'll regret saying goodbye someday
as you waited by your daddy's truck,
waiting to move away from this place,
take your entire family cross-country
to Charleston or even Raleigh.
Decked out in a pair of Daisy Dukes
and southwestern boots,
your dark cinnamon hair hanging long
and wild down your shoulders, oh girl,
you were the last goodbye
made out so pretty and sad;
a sight for sore eyes, a Cherokee song,
whispered at bedtime in a liquid language.

And I was standing there,
words stuck in my wild ginger throat,
the first day we met on the track
surrounding our school.
Cheerleader; you were so flexible,
doing back flips and hand-stands,
while I gawked along with
the entire football team practicing
on that blinding sunny afternoon.

But you picked me when
you could've glanced at
any one of those boys with
dusky blue eyes, freckles
and ropy muscles outlined
through their fire-bird red jerseys.
You chose to talk to me, instead;
follow me to class, even slip your
buttermilk-toned hand in my pale one.
And to this day, girl,
I can't believe how lucky I was then
because, Lokni, you were one of a kind.
A million stars could
never have predicted that meeting;
our connection, unlikely chemistry.
Oh forever will I be
thankful to whatever fantasy deity;
animal spirit or forest nymph who
decided to grant me
that priceless moment
of caramel-toned eyes
and the scent of honeysuckle in the air,
brown sugar lips on my neck,
making delicious shivers form all along
my gardenia white flesh.

Lokni; like a hymn, rose leaf tragedy,
rhododendron, monarch butterfly,
you were exotic and real;
not meant to be pushed aside.
And still, those guys you dated
just wanted a taste of your passion,
your June carnival candy cream kiss.
They didn't want to stick around
to figure out the cross-word puzzle
that was your mind, how you were so
quick to learn something new,
make yourself better every day.

But I was more than interested
in being your friend,
your only exception,
the rain that soaked up all of my dreams,
sparkled prettily
on your lash line
like party glitter.
Lokni, you weren't
one of those "material girls", dancing
on top of bar tables every Friday night,
calling boys on the phone just to brag
about how made-up
their hair and faces were,
how completely washed-out
they felt inside
after a few icy
drinks from the liquor cabinet.

No, darling, you didn't need
to get drunk, wasted to have fun.
You enjoyed the simple things;
porch swings, Fleetwood Mac,
late drives down magnolia back roads after 5 P.M.
We could hike for hours and still laugh and sing
stupid lyrics, pretending we were on the CMAs.

Girl, you had Virginia
running through your veins.
You had that sunflower heat
burning in your chest; forbidden,
dark and lovely, tiger lily blood.
And southern ghosts came alive in
your sweet-grass eyes
whenever we sat on the porch,
roasting marshmallows
over flames and cedar
chips, fall kindling.
Like a shaman, you were cursed
with the knowledge of nature;
medicinal teas, aloe leaves
pressed onto wounds, healing.
Like a goddess, you only existed,
in my naughtiest imagination.

Wine velvet top, off-the-shoulder,
round two on the floor of your room;
we kissed and held each other like
nothing had ever felt so right,
so natural; a flame at dusk.
Your hazel eyes, toned-down
mystery, promised me more
meetings after school.
Lokni, when I folded
my arms around your shoulders,
your feathery hair
brushed against my skin and
I inhaled the scent of clover;
my lucky one-night-stand.
"Shh.. It's our secret," you whispered
as a form of farewell,
always slightly teasing
because truth or dare;
we were more than friends.