Love note (in parentheticl parts)

Today I thought of you when the wind carried the whisper of your voice to my ear. It tickled, resonated in the way your breath does in my intimate places,

or in your speech during love making,

or in the way you recite poetry. The wind stroked my thigh,

making my toes tingle

and muscles flinch, and so I carried the wind

with me throughout my day; as I do with your breath after we kiss.

It cushioned my paces.

As I hummed Ne Me Quittez Pas

to myself on the Trolley,

on the way to turn in my paper on

the discourses of Aimé Césaire, a small child,

who reminded me of you, smiled at me

through the window of a teal minivan.

The young boy and the wind made me reconsider my own feelings about motherhood.

Feeling tired from our previous night,

I closed my eyes briefly as the whir of the air conditioning

and the hot son on my right cheek

cooed me to sleep.

I dreamed of a protest – gaining momentum

– you in the front, guiding your people, me by your side

toting your book bag and your AK, a moleskin journal, and a camera strung around my neck.