Stockard Channing and a thing that almost happened

Stockard Channing
didn't give me her autograph
but it mattered none
because when she walked past me
smelling like violets
I saw her smile before
it dissolved into stillness
and I knew she wasn't inconsiderate,
just running late.

That night, at dinner
she drank clear liquer
and told stories about '78'
that made Alexander blush
beneath that mop of hair
that he touched so often.
He was so shy.

I forget that sometimes.

I took the pack of cards
that I carry with me always
from inside my cardigan,
wrote her name
onto the back of
the Queen of Hearts
and slid it inside
the pocket of her coat.
I hoped that later,
when she got back to an empty hotel,
she'd reach for her room key
and find it there.

She didn't call or mention it again
but it mattered none
because after that night
she lived inside my heart
and I could feel her there
as I went about my days
until each one was done.