Della

Tai Mauney

She was plump, dark-haired while I,

I was all wisp and wheat.

But our imaginations fused,

Flared together, one flame.

I was the first to discover kissing;

she the first to stuff her bra--

kindergarten--I guess you could say

that we were early bloomers.

Then she moved, suddenly, and in silence.

Strange, unhelpful people answered the phone.

Years later I heard from a friend of a friend

That she had moved to Louisiana, filled out,

was top of her class (that much I suspected).

I like to remember her as a blur of yellow

against green, spinning, dancing,

and early autumn leaf--bright, beautiful and fleeting.

She is all the sweet things I have known and lost.

And I can't remember

                her last name.