Amanda Laughtland – Seven Poems

Amanda Laughtland

Seven Poems

Emily, You Know Who You Are

You go to culinary school at night, you have short hair, you wear glasses with square plastic frames. I caught you looking before I turned to ask you your name. We’d barely started talking when my friend wanted to leave. It was her birthday or I’d have stayed to borrow your recipes. I looked back from the sidewalk and saw you winking through the window of the bar. Seattle Center, Sunday Afternoon You were a volunteer at Folklife without an official t-shirt but with charm and an accent. Norwegian? We talked but I became shy. You said you’d helped two lost children that morning. I hope to find you again. When we met I didn’t introduce myself. Please write and I’ll tell you exactly who I am. Girl with a Gray Weimaraner I was eating a salad outside and caught your eye four or five times. You were stretching while on the phone. You had short, dark hair, a pair of sunglasses pushed up on your head. I wish I would have stopped and said hello. I smiled but got nervous. I was the girl in the black tank and blue shorts. You have the best smile. I wanted you to know—if by chance you read this—you made my afternoon. Lunch at Lotus Last Saturday afternoon, we were sitting at adjacent tables, both with male companions. Were you with yours? You wore black glasses and a gray turtleneck. I was in a white jacket and kept looking over at you. I remember seeing you once downtown, dressed all in red leather. Can I take you to dinner? Girl on the Underground Line I stood nearby until the seat opened beside you. You helped with my crossword and drank iced coffee. I took your stop to keep talking while you smoked and walked to work. When you had to go you kissed me on the cheek and said you’re stuck in a situation but to try again in a month. I’m trying hard to wait. Cute Thirty-ish Nurse Last Tuesday night you were working triage in the ER when I came in with my father. He has a heart murmur. Not the time or place to ask you out but I’ve thought of you all week. I’m tall with a thin build. My blonde hair in a ponytail, I was wearing sweats and a blue t-shirt, looking sleepy and frumpy, and you looked so good. Starbucks on Olive You sat near the door, studying algebra. We smiled a couple times. Nothing beyond that. I read The Stranger and couldn’t think of a way to approach you. Nothing less attractive than being disruptive and presumptuous so I didn’t buy you another Americano and say what a charming bookworm you make.

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