Youth

by Rafael Hernán Gamboa

We stood together under doorways,
under moonlit autumn skies
and pregnant winter clouds
waiting.

We waited in mediocre restaurants,
in long, rickety trains
and car rides we both remember
for reasons we’ll never really understand.

We waited mere feet apart
in magnetic lock
and all those places looked the same,
painted for the blind by the echoes
of reluctant goodbyes
we each hoped would get the point across.

What were we thinking, I wonder.

We, standing there,
staring
and waiting.