Confession of a Kiss

I kissed Bruce. Well, really, he kissed me.
Sort of. It wasn’t like you’d think. Bruce
is gay. Was gay. I knew he was gay. So …
it was strange. His lips were tight, muscular,
probably the only thing about him
that was. I don’t know why all the others
wanted us to kiss. I was the only girl.
Or maybe I’m remembering wrong?
I remember his basement bedroom,
dark, dim; his lover and my boyfriend
both egging us on, and then silence
as if at some sort of sudden wreck,
while Bruce put his wiry arms around
my shoulders and pressed his smooth dry lips
against mine. I remember feeling
baffled, and then a surge of alarm
when his tongue darted between my lips
just as his mother opened the door
and turned on the lights, her face, her face
shattering into a desperate
sudden hope, while Bruce’s face went smug.
Such a peculiar memory now,
when it’s almost forty years later.
Today. Today is the anniversary.
Not of the kiss. Of the day I heard
he’d died. His mother phoned me. “You should know
before you see it in the newspaper.”
April Fools. My brain shouted, “April Fools.”


5 responses to “Confession of a Kiss

  1. Great poem!! You had me until the end.

  2. Thank you. It is a story that stuck in my head, and I could not imagine a better day to write it out than on April Fools Day!

  3. This is such a nice memory of someone after they departed. Such innocemce described so well.

  4. Innocence. How curious. I suppose we both were, in a way. We were so very young.

  5. Pingback: Confession Series, 2012 #NaPoWriMo #30in30 | Rosefire Rising

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