96 The Meadow In Montenegro, The Day I Loved You Jordan Lee Mumm The setting sun reflected Off of rain-worn cobblestones. Warm, brass streetlamps lit Our way beyond the church building Where we slept that week On the floor, on mattresses A few feet apart. A warm breeze offered up The smell of sweet figs, and rosemary. Speckled goats on vine-covered balconies Awaited their slaughter, as families Gathered under terracotta rooftops To celebrate Eid al-Adha. We walked with friends Then alone, your arms and mine Swinging, hands colliding as we went. You sang in your wide, Swiss voice Something by the Beatles. Bright And poppy, your exaggerated syllables. Your eyes seemed greener Than usual. When you looked At me, I forgot that I existed, Felt as if I would drift into the Adriatic Sea we were walking toward. I could’ve been a boat. I could’ve been the salty air. I remember stumbling On the downhill path. You reached Out, caught my arm, steadied Me with your hand on my back, and held It there, a while, staring at me until The sun sank. I turned away And we walked, quietly, home.
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