Sylvie Hill

In Our Fake Empire

Your truck.
You turned it up
the volume
quite loud
summer sound.
But not before kissing me.
So tenderly.
Your black hair
growing long
silver-laced
sprouting out from
under the Mao cap.
And, your dark, young eyes
looking at me
with surprise
that you were this:
in love.
That I looked damn good
in the front seat of your truck.
And like the track
in your truck
blasting as we took route
night-drive
summer winds
windows down:
We were half awake.
Dazed in new love!
We were half awake
baked by that day’s sun
from the cottage
where we made love.
And BBQ’d our lunch.
We were half awake
in our fake empire
of my condo and your
being lost.
Your depression.
My expectations.
And me on the rebound
And my maternal extinct
In loving you like
My flesh, my blood,
son.
Wanting you
To break out of your funk
My not helping matters
by doubting
your love.

Sylvie Hill, Montreal, September 1, 2019