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Friday, August 31, 2007


by Hugo De Sarro

We sat on the grass
and listened to the bells,
and I was elsewhere
pretending and listening
to a more disruptive sound.
There were whispers, soft laughter,
and white faces floating
in the dim and sensual light,
and I observed at a distance.

And when we walked in the dark
of the trees across the road
and held hands and didn’t talk
and stopped now and then to kiss,
I strolled a separate path,
unhanded and unkissed.

At the freshmen fire,
I felt no glow, no warmth.
I didn't sing; my voice wasn’t mine.
I knew I was miscast; too much had changed.

Hugo De Sarro is a former adjunct college English instructor. His work has been published in a variety of journals, including Eureka Literary Magazine, Absinthe Literary Review, Colorado Review, Pulsar, Oklahoma Literary Review, and others in the U.S. and internationally.