when my mother told me you were dying

when my mother told me you were dying
I put on my nikes
and ran 1.8 [years backward] miles before
vomiting on the side of the road.

I think now about the length of those
1.8 years (the difference
between me and you)
and remember kisses, fights, bike rides,
nights spent in Spain debajo el cielo estrellado,
blisters on the heels of my feet.

I remember a succession of boys,
thin, round, tall, short, cocky, embarrassed,
sweet and angry alike,
and most notably
the 1.8 years of choosing between them.

I remember deaths, births, let-downs, surprises,
getting the flu.

So now, hours later,
I sit here smelling
of cigarettes and maturity,
arrogance and bullshit,
subtlties and smiles,
just as I did when I was [cute and] sixteen.

So now I wonder -- am I
caught in the whirlwind
with you?
--17 may 07
--for david.