A Question

Once I knew a girl.
She was an iconic figure
in my imagination and
I only hoped I could
live up to her. She had
a poem with the line,
"me and my PBR," and I
always felt the piece
crystallized for me certain
aspects of the northwest
I couldn't myself name.
We were in a poetry show
together; at the party
afterwards, she held my
hand. I acted as though
this were an unwelcome
gesture. How I lament
that fact! Looking back,
all I can think is that I
was a fool not warmly
to welcome her hand.
I've spent too many lonely
nights and years since.
To think that, no matter
what might have come of any
relationship we might
have had, my life would
have turned out differently
breaks my heart. Who knows
how it might have turned out.
All I can say for sure is
that it would have been
different. And that's enough
to make a permanent little
hole in the center of me.

(2008)