By Charlene Fix

I don’t remember her name.
It was Adrienne.
She lived with her parents
in an apartment on Cedar,
the road that split school districts.
So when she threw a party,
she invited kids from both.
Feeling shy in her crowded
living room, I sat on Mark
Shore’s lap while he sat on
the lap of a comfy chair.
We laughed and laughed,
my giddiness netting me
two new boyfriends I didn’t
want or seek and whose interest
waned anyway as soon as they
found I was fun only when
perched on Mark Shore’s lap.
I loved abstractly then, all in
my head, divorced romantically
from anyone real. Mark and I
were just friends, with all of
just’s implications. So we remain,
though he passed away a while ago.
That night I felt protected on his lap
where I could gaze upon the social sea
secure, even when he worked
his arm up the back of my blouse,
until his hand emerged at my collar
waving to those in the room
and, in this ebb-time, to you.

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Charlene Fix’s poetry collections include Jewgirl (Broadstone Books, 2023), and Taking a Walk in My Animal Hat (Bottom Dog, 2018). Her book of prose, hom- age, and film criticism is Harpo Marx as Trickster (McFarland, 2013). Emeritus Professor of English at Columbus College of Art and Design, co-coordinator of Hospital Poets at OSU Medical Center, and social justice activist, Charlene is mother of three and grandmother of two. Her website is charlenefix.com.