I was staying up late, fueled solely by sugar-filled Energy drinks,
with my head in the books, as they say.
But really my head was perched upon one hand
the other, set on the keyboard,
finger tapping the “J” as I read and reread my lead,
trying to drum some life into my words.
While she was sipping a light-beer in a country bar
with a man twice her age, as they say.
But really she was only a third-less his,
Wearing a new pair of the old flares,
and the same faux-suede shoes she’d soon slip-off
to slide on the dance floor in her socks.
Later, I would slip out of the newsroom
to answer my phone in the quiet college hall.
And return with a silent wonder,
Or a buzzing worry, rather.
But I hadn’t time to think of matters
not worthy of my front page.
So while she was becoming a mother
to one, and two and four,
I was chugging a glass of water
between 2-for-1 long islands
trying my best to keep a dizzy-head
level on the crowded dance floor.
She’d be passed out
in an old wooden rocker
for the brief silent moment
between the many midnight wakings.
And I, would wake to a friend jumping on our bed
and hold tight to the sheet –
the only thing between his feet
and our tangled limbs.
While she was growing her family,
one by one by one, and eventually two,
I was learning to manage my own team
of six self-deprecating stylists
and trying my best to love them
as she loved hers.
Just Me, Jasmine Lee 