First Love

Breindel Kasher

They met at the university. He was a part of the bohemian scene


There was something strong between them.  She felt it. She would dream of him

He was her first love


They moved to a fifth floor walk-up in the East Village

She baked and dusted, studied and protested. It was l966. She was l9

He was her everything


He built a bed from rosewood. Some days they never left it


Summers they traveled: Through Europe to Ceuta, sailing to Morocco

Hitching from Canal Street to Mexico, over the Bridge of The Americas


Her parents had been in and out of hospitals

He didn’t like those days she visited. He said she came back sad

So she kept her sadness hidden


When her father died, she did not feel it. They did not speak of it

She smoked up and numbed it


He built a bed from rosewood. Some days she never left it


He bought her a ticket to London for her graduation

In four months, when his teaching semester ended, he would join her


Full moon, cold and alone, she took a boat to Amsterdam

She missed him and kissed her letters with red lipstick


In high boots and a see through shirt from India, she waited at the central station

He stepped off the train and she knew, she no longer loved him


He wanted to ride horses across Afghanistan, she wouldn’t

He wrote from Greece, let’s try again, she couldn’t


She stayed in Amsterdam living with Portuguese dissidents

In a house with no electricity, at night they lit candles and played music

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