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The first time I walked<br />
With a girl, I was twelve,<br />
Cold, and weighted down<br />
With two oranges in my jacket.<br />
December. Frost cracking<br />
Beneath my steps, my breath<br />
Before me, then gone,<br />
As I walked toward<br />
Her house, the one whose<br />
Porch light burned yellow<br />
Night and day, in any weather.<br />
A dog barked at me, until<br />
She came out pulling<br />
At her gloves, face bright<br />
With rouge. I smiled,<br />
Touched her shoulder, and led<br />
Her down the street, across<br />
A used car lot and a line<br />
Of newly planted trees,<br />
Until we were breathing<br />
Before a drugstore. We<br />
Entered, the tiny bell<br />
Bringing a saleslady<br />
Down a narrow aisle of goods.<br />
I turned to the candies<br />
Tiered like bleachers,<br />
And asked what she wanted -<br />
Light in her eyes, a smile<br />
Starting at the corners<br />
Of her mouth. I fingered<br />
A nickel in my pocket,<br />
And when she lifted a chocolate<br />
That cost a dime,<br />
I didn't say anything.<br />
I took the nickel from<br />
My pocket, then an orange,<br />
And set them quietly on<br />
The counter. When I looked up,<br />
The lady's eyes met mine,<br />
And held them, knowing<br />
Very well what it was all<br />
About.<br />
<br />
Outside,<br />
A few cars hissing past,<br />
Fog hanging like old<br />
Coats between the trees.<br />
I took my girl's hand<br />
In mine for two blocks,<br />
Then released it to let<br />
Her unwrap the chocolate.<br />
I peeled my orange<br />
That was so bright against<br />
The gray of December<br />
That, from some distance,<br />
Someone might have thought<br />
I was making a fire in my hands.