James Mills


Years From Seventeen

Poem by James Mills

I didn't know the word then,
now I know that you were - buxom.
Blonde mane loose, those brown clips
were meant for sisters, spinsters,
never you.

At seventeen, I know you loved me.
You wrecked my pre-punk hair
with long, red fingernails.
I'd have resented that from others,
never you.

I know, because you
called me by my name.
other barmaids said Love,
or son, forgot I reddened easily,
never you.

Last night- years from seventeen,
we laughed about my crush.
Tears hung in your blue eyes. You said
how old you'd grown - Oh, no.
Never you.


Comments about Years From Seventeen by James Mills

  • Mary Nagy (5/18/2005 5:35:00 AM)

    Very sweet. This is a very touching poem. Sincerely, mary(Report)Reply

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Read poems about / on: son, hair, red, night, sister



Poem Submitted: Wednesday, May 18, 2005