The First Time I Saw You
you danced with lilacs scenting
the spring air. Petunias and bluebells
clapped their hands. Forsythia
and red bud tangled in a clash
of color. When you turned,
your yellow hair shifted shoulders.
I thought your eyes caught mine,
but I couldn’t let you know
I saw you seeing me. I thought,
who would look at this clod in the field?
I’m uncool, except for hearing
poetry’s music. This mistress
of words holds me, yet denies
completeness. But, in you I feel
poetry’s promises. The brushings
of your dress gives voice and image
to lines crying for habitation. You
live in these lines, after all these years,
as from the first time I saw you.
Previously Published in the July 2016 Issue of Episteme Online Poetry Journal.
After retiring from a 48-year career in the printing industry in 2013, Michael Escoubas began writing poetry for publication. His study of and interest in poetry goes back some 30 years. During this time he studied classical and modern poets learning from their works and from critics who comment about them. Michael writes poetry in part because his mother once said, “You have a gift for words; you should do something with that gift.”