WITHIN THE TRUCE OF NIGHT
(Jan 2003 - San Jose, CA)
She would sit up late at night
in the living room of her grandparents house
chain smoking marlboro lights
and drinking black coffee.
We would watch old TV shows
McMillan & Wife, Columbo, The Saint,
and talk about whatever came to mind,
she on the couch,
I on the floor in front of her.
Even then there was a difference
that stood between us like a door,
she spoke of the things she would not do,
while I spoke of the things I would.
We'd never been particularly easy friends.
We were cast from different metals -
she of silver, soft, gleaming
susceptible to corruption -
I of iron, brittle and cold,
ragged edged and prone to break.
Within the truce of night
we found an uneasy peace with each other,
in company, conversation, and coffee.
Morning always brought us closer
to the breaking of that sacred truce.
It was only in the shattered years
that followed upon that bitter dawn
that I realized I had loved her.
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