By Christopher Fettes
Sometimes forgetting is willful, even hoped for.
How he carried himself as he walked across the yard,
Between one building and the next.
How his pant legs were cuffed,
But still grew damp from treading through the dewy morning.
How his eyes pierced your facade when he looked your way.
The way the smell of his sweat hung on him
Warm and intimate, not staid or dirty.
The way he walked past watching eyes, showing no sign he noticed.
The way he disappeared across the lawn.
The way you wondered if he knew your name.
The thoughts you kept to yourself.
It is easier to let the sting of memory recede
Into the past without wondering what
Might have been or revisiting what was.
Christopher Fettes was born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas, where he lives with his wife and their beloved pets. He earned both a bachelor’s and master’s degree in English from the University of Central Arkansas. He writes poetry and fiction. He serves as Poetry Editor for Medicine & Meaning and is a reviewer for Slant. He is the author of a chapbook titled A Loneliness in the Distance Between.