I couldn’t take her to my senior prom.
Catholic High rules: Only St. Mary’s
girls. She went to Hall. I opted to come
to the post-dance bash; shucked the main soiree.
Weeks later, patient as ocean, she sat
through my graduation; then she caressed
my hand with the gift: a medal of Saint
Christopher, her name and the date impressed
on its back. I cherish it still. These years
later, I’ve blocked how it ended, or why.
But my mind often sees her smiling, hears
her soft voice. Betsy said, before she died,
she left this brief note: Please don’t forget me.
It’s clear to me now my heart won’t let me.
Roger Armbrust
September 13, 2007
