how i met the rocket scientist, part one

I kissed him.

Not at the bar, but when he walked me back to my car. Right there in the Adams Morgan garage. I wish I could say it was the most mind blowing kiss I’d ever experienced, but it didn’t go down like that. I gave him a brief smooch just to let him know that I liked him. As I told you, I really don’t know how to flirt. I either do too much or too little. Maybe I did too much, because I think he was too surprised to really kiss me back. All I know is that I couldn’t take any chances. Not now. Not on this man.

***

The next day was Artomatic, where I was slated to read some of my poetry. I was nervous because I hadn’t read in a while, and kicking myself. Why? Because I had nonchalantly invited the rocket scientist to come see me perform. And he said yes. So I was going to be seeing him a second time. Two nights in a row. This had never happened to me before. I usually wait a week between dates. Just so I don’t seem too available. Just so he has time to miss me.

I had already chosen which poems I was going to read. I had one about a date I had recently gone on with a Muslim guy that hated the fact that I drank alcohol. I had one about sex. The rocket scientist was going to think I was poetically promiscuous.

My mom! OMG and my mom was coming, too. And my sister. What kind of modern woman lets a man meet her mom on the second date? And was this even a date? I didn’t have time to figure it out. My fate had already been set. I would read the poems. And he would meet my mom. If he didn’t freak out, I decided I would kiss him again. As a reward.

***

“Mom, this is the rocket scientist.” He looked surprised. She looked startled.  I had only briefly mentioned the possibility that he would be coming to my reading. Later, he would tell me that he thought my mom was my sister. He thought my sister was my friend. I was glad there wasn’t much time for small talk. I was on. Everyone sat in the front row. At the last minute, I decided to get rid of the sex poem. I looked right at the rocket scientist, leaning forward in his seat. He was listening intently, just like the night before at the bar.

I told him how I grew up.

sanders projects (ohio, 1989)

our narrow apartment
smells like fried chicken legs
and Blue Magic hair grease

there is no yard
only a small plot of brown
and a big tree near the parking lot

the fat lady across the street
caves into a checkered beach chair
on her front porch

me and the twins play around back
in a forest of  broken green bottles
and twisted cigarette butts

-

I shared my love of the south.

georgia on my mind

I-85 north from atlanta

on my way home from peachtree street
downtown midtown buckhead
sweet iced tea and ripe freestones
scattered honeysuckle flowers

now i know there’s no such thing as forever
but i could eat juicy fruit
on hot georgia days forever
could drive down country roads
lined with magnolia my whole life

and even though forever
is just a made up word for however long
we think we might live to see the sun rise
i find a little peace driving down south
stopping along the way to buy a few peaches to suck on

for the now times
for this life limited by the sun

-

I reminisced about an old flame.

the sky today

what is it that we ask of God?
the courage to forget
or the grace to remember

i surrender today to the mottled gray fog
to the slate blue thunder rolling
in to meet the clouds

the sky is an open mystery

i found one of your t-shirts today
in a box of old clothes i should have
unpacked a lifetime ago

each wrinkle wrinkled in the same place
as if you had just taken it off
over and across those broad brown shoulders
like granite, like steel

like the sky today holding the sun
hostage inside the fog
on a day like today, we try
to grab onto something
someone, a memory
we try to find a way to hold it all

-

I even did the poem about the Muslim dude.

first date poem

we meet at my favorite restaurant
halfway between your house and mine
you never know how these things
are going to turn out

you, a devout Muslim wearing those Malcolm X glasses
me, a heathen in skinny jeans, leather pumps

when i order a strawberry margarita
your brows furrow in disapproval

i am in first grade again and you
are my white-haired teacher tapping
a wooden ruler against my desk
waiting for the right answer

we hug goodbye and i know
i will never see you again
but i do not care, after all
i am happy and full of tequila

***

After my reading, I did an interview with a reporter who was covering the event. It took much longer than I thought – 45 minutes maybe. I expected him to leave, but thankfully he didn’t. We waited for the Metro together. He said I was a great poet. And he wasn’t freaking out. So I kissed him. But longer this time. He asked to see me again. When? I don’t know, I said. It was time for me to get off the train. I smiled as I stepped off the car. Just in time to see him gazing after me. For once, I thought I’d done the whole flirting thing right.

To be continued…

how i met the rocket scientist, part three (the end)

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