I Have Only Myself to Blame

In the midst of orange groves
She walked for hours
To find the meeting place
From many years before.

Softly undulating landscape,
Air ripe with steam and
Perfume, fresh grasses,
She followed memory there.

There, in that open place
Between the endless rows
Of fruit trees, she had met
Someone with dappled eyes.

She could recall every detail
Of his face, the freckles,
Sandy cropped hair, the
Tiny bump on top of his ear.

His strong grasp on her hand,
Her hips, the sides of her face,
All were burned in her memory
Like hot sun on orange skin.

In that open place amid
Orange groves, she stood
For a moment, breathing in
Pungent air and memories.

She had pulled her hand
Away, despite his firm grasp,
Out of fear perhaps, or
Pride, or petulance.

She wanted to run wild
Through orange groves,
Seeking undiscovered paths
And mysterious colors.

Letting the man with the
Dappled eyes and freckled skin
Fade into the view behind,
She had run wild.

Many years later now, she
Would return to this place,
And the place in her heart,
Where he had once been.

And now, with the scent of
Orange groves filling her body,
She realized, fully and clearly,
"I have only myself to blame."