he watched me cross the cafeteria
Denise Gilchrist
It was early fall. I was Bobby’s
Here Comes My Girl,
sunbeams and corkscrew curls.
His eyes searing the back
of my black gauchos
cinched at the waist
with a gold-plated heart.
I flashed to summer—
how I leaped
at that tan cowboy hat
his come-hither wink
the two of us carrying the water tub
in from the field
his blond hair damp and feathered.
As I crossed the lunchroom
every cell, a cosmic grace.
Across the hall, I saw
my name on the courtyard wall
still wet, dripping blue
meeting the janitor’s roller
loaded with beige.
​Denise Gilchrist is an emerging poet, avid music lover, and border collie mom who muses in the forest of southeastern Pennsylvania. Her poetry has appeared in several publications including, Smoky Blue Literary and Arts Magazine, Door is A Jar, Woods Reader, The Mixtape Review, Sublimation, Suburban Witchcraft, and Grand Little Things.