I have moved far enough away from you
that I no longer expect a chance encounter

at the grocery store, a friend’s apartment,
a high school football game.

Yet this is where you ambush me—
in the flash of a red jacket,

the smell of beer dried brown
on a wooden floor,

the sound of my name borne through the air
on a shimmering night of young men colliding

to shouts of cheerleaders and parents
and youth.

Some goodbyes are too small
for the echoes they create.

©

Kathleen Latham is a poet and short fiction writer living outside of Boston, MA. Her work has most recently appeared in River Heron Review, Chestnut Review, and Red Wolf Journal. She can be found online at KathleenLatham.com or on social media as @lathamwithapen.