The Night of the Pigtails

22 January 2026

https://poems.culturing.net/2026/01/the-night-of-the-pigtails/

You seemed very young (far too young
if you know what I mean), and I hardly could recognize
the glimpse of the woman I knew I had seen.
But I felt a strange warmth even so. I chose
not to approach, and in fact was quite worried
I might have hallucinated, desperate as I was for any sign.
For your presence there made all the difference.
But what was this girlish slough, these pigtails?
I think I can understand your need for reconnaissance,
but I had to consider the latent aggression,
the taunt enclosed in such a move amid silence,
after what we had been through. Perhaps I deserved it
for waking desire. Or perhaps it tested my courage
and strength. Did I pass? I did not like being taunted, and told you
in so many words, but those words were prepared in advance,
in response to the silence, and had a secret meaning.
I understood also that you were sorry, only sorry
that we failed to connect, for reasons still unknown to me.
But neither of us was sorry the attempt had been made.
And now as we approach what may be a second attempt,
I must wonder if the way has cleared, the storm has passed,
and the slough has been shed once and for all.
Has the Night of the Pigtails faded into myth?