230. DEAR MARIANNE

230.

Ahhh, the anticipation, stolen glances, 

awkward hugs, sweaty palms;  

time-honored rite of passage,

first love is no small matter.

DEAR MARIANNE                                             

Reluctantly I houseclean    

the attic, come across a packet 

of forgotten letters in a box

tied with faded blue ribbons.

Memory pulls me back.

June 20, 1963

Sorry about my handwriting.

I'm sitting on a cot in my tent,

clipboard on my knees,

flashlight in one hand, 

pen in the other,

swatting mosquitoes! 

I adjust my glasses, 

decide to read all of them,

drag a worn chair close to the window,

return to the summer of 1963.

I'm fifteen, in love for the first time.

June 27, 1963

It drizzled yesterday afternoon,  

rained torrents last night.

Today is the first day it hasn't rained.

If you have an extra picture, 

will you send it?

I remember waiting for the mailman

to navigate his truck down our road, 

clouds of dust trailing behind,

racing to the end of the driveway,

fingers crossed for a letter.

July 9, 1963

I like your red ink.

You asked about my birthday.

I'll be 17 on August 10.

When's your birthday?

Wish I could see you.

No longer a girl...

not quite a woman, 

I waited impatiently 

at the balancing point

between the two worlds,

aching for my grown-up life to begin.

July 15, 1963

Heard you were asking who 

Maggie is. Well, it's this way. 

She's someone I knew a long time ago.

She moved to Washington. 

You don't have anything to worry about.

All that summer

I dreamed about a blonde crewcut,

eyes blue as the summer sky.

Desperate to be kissed,

I thought of little but him.

August 4, 1963

Saturday night, Mrs. Tooley,

the camp director's wife, 

gave a peach shortcake party,

first fresh fruit 

I've had in weeks.

When summer ended, 

he rode his bike twenty miles to see me,

sweet boy who kissed me first,

my forever rite of passage from

childhood into the world of love.

August 9, 1963

Everything's in a muddle;

we're closing camp,

taking inventory. The temperature

dropped to 38 degrees last night. 

Hard to get up this morning. I got your letter.

But oh, to suffer those sweet pangs again,

the electric feeling of my hand in his,

the air prickling in anticipation,

soaring up and down on a roller coaster

with stars in my eyes.

P.S.

Bet you don't know what 88's means.

88's in code on a ham set means

Love 'n' Kisses. My bunk mate 

is a ham operator. Write soon.

88's only for you...

*comments welcome

NOTE: The parts in italic are from old letters, stored in our attic 

for too many years. I wove them into this poem about first love, 

then tossed them out.

I stood on the knife-edge of two worlds, burning with impatience.

Memories come like fine-line cracks

in the walls of my mind.

The anticipation, the sweaty palms, 

the quick glances, the awkward hug; 

time-honored rite of passage 

into a life absorbed by love.

It seems almost melodramatic now

but first love is no small matter.