He held her, with memories
of an old cafe inside lime green walls
that held the cold and reflected grease
and the echoes of voices
tired, happy and sad,
and black and white checkered floors
where jubilant ghosts danced
the Huckel-Buck and the Hully-Gully
to after hours music, the blinds pulled
against the loss of light and secrets
to the carnivorous night's inky appetite,
and fat red bar stools skewered
with silver tooth pick pedestals,
sit in contemplation
under the chin of the flat, cool counter.

And waitresses, who know everybody's names,
and the names of their children
and grandchildren,
as well as their usual order,
carry thick white plates piled high
with familiar foods from country meals
of long ago, to be masticated slowly
between working class teeth,
while sitting in a room coloured
by the smell of tiredness and exhaustion
that seeps from everybody's pores.

He held her, hard against the memories
of long time past, when everything
still shone, like new toys
wrapped in crackling cellophane
and all choices seemed endless.

He held her even now
though he was prone,
six feet under,
still but not silent,
restless with wanting her,
even though his body could no longer
hear his desires.

Copyright © 2002-2003 AJ Heard. All Rights Reserved. May not be re-printed in any form without express written consent of the author. Do not copy or post. "He Held Her" was originally published in the June/July 2002 issue of La Gazette, a women's forum newspaper for the central coast