foot traffic

Cassie Nicotera

he takes me to his happy place 

where a young pawpaw grows and nearly everything is edible. 

unlike the rest of the yard, its cooler here, 

shaded by trees and tucked away in a corner like a well loved letter.

the grass comes up to our waists where he hasn't tread thousands of times

before and as i follow him i can see all of his years before me. 

they take the same strides, get stuck by the same thorns. 

his hair grows long in the cool breeze and shines in the sun, like golden brown

honey. he is all that is lovely.

i can endure a little heat just to watch him in his element. 

his parents tell me he’s never had anyone like me before and i can see in their eyes

that i’m more than he lets on. 

his well kept secret now a bountiful knowledge, 

because people i'll never see again will remember my face 

and hope to see it again. 

my body has learned the ways of flowing here where time moves languid,

but he is ever quick like a river’s current. 

he’s several paces ahead of me now and hard to catch up to. 

branches curl around my ankles and bristle the hair of my arms. 

but i match his footsteps, settling my shoes into spaces he's walked barefoot, and i

keep myself upright. 

his steps were calculated years ago- now he relies on the mapping in his heart. 

he disappears briefly up the hill between the trees and shrubs. he

said he wanted to show me something. 

i don't mind waiting for his harvest 

because i feel him around me, in every plant. 

when he calls to me, i spring up out of the foliage like a dog at the sound of his

voice. 

he brings me love in the form of sweet scented petals with lilac threads,

and tells me we're lucky to catch one nearly out of season.