Sunday 29 January 2023

Night Moves, Reprised                                                          

by Claire Massey


The boy was a maverick
who shared with me,
a tongue of flame arcing through auburn hair
and amateur status in the ranks of lovers
that virginal summer of ’78. 
Exotica sounded in the clip of his vowels,
unheard where we lived in lower Alabama,
his just-divorced Dad
having dragged him from Chicago.

There was comfort, he claimed, in the words I wrote,
more comfort still in my neophyte’s crush,
both of us barred from the in-crowd,
badges of honor we sported,
both of us learning in exile. 

Tentative at first, then able, urgent,
we rehearsed night moves beside a brook in the country,
turned our backs
on its whispery disapproval,
turned up Bob Seeger on the boombox.

Tell me my budding poetess, what line do you like best?
Too tall and angular myself, I answered the part about her breasts,
firm and high on her chest and probably—small.

If I could recall
the S-blend in his name, McSween or Swan,
perhaps we could meet for lattes,
our twin bolts of titian hair gone grey,
our swimming hole diverted to make way
for McMansions’ jutting porches.

Over liberally sweetened mochas,
he’d still want to know,
What part of “Night Moves”
moves you most?

I’d lean into the faux-wood table,
remember the S-curve of his body,
how we spooned against this backwater.
Listening for the far-off thunder,
with all that lighting gone,
that working and practicing done,
autumn after autumn
closing my summers,
and still, no mysteries solved.


* * * * *

Claire Massey finds joy in discovering and supporting literary artists who further our quest for understanding of self and the world. Among other journals, recent work has appeared in Snapdragon Journal of Art and Healing, Lucky Jefferson 365 Collection, Halfway Down the Stairs, POEM, Persimmon Tree and Bright Flash Literary Review. She is Poetry Editor for the quarterly magazine, The Pen Woman. Driver Side Window, her collection of flash stories, poems, memoir vignettes and interpretive photographs, debuted in October, 2022.

3 comments:

  1. Impressive use of language to fashion this evocative memory , , , and an ending that leaves the reader pondering the times of our lives that still reverberate.

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  2. Nostalgic. Sad to think we lose contact with those who were so important to our coming of age.

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  3. Perhaps you’ve heard a song that sparked a memory you can’t fully unfold. At the time, you were learning life lessons in trust, risks, honesty and deception. Decades later, it’s that absence that pricks at our minds, tempts us to grab hold of a vapor memory, and we can’t resist trying to grasp it. Claire captures that moment in Night Moves. It’s tender, sweet, and sad.

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