Just leaning toward someone is part of the story
  —William Stafford

But that’s not where it begins.
It begins before the corduroy
jacket on loan. Before tracks
through snow to an unlit house.
The dust of blue chalk and crack
of pool balls. Archie Bell & the
Drells on the radio at three AM.
It begins before the scent of Old
Spice through the window of a car
with Kentucky plates. Before
a southerly wind pushing an
empty porch swing. A Hershey bar
broken into thirds. A deck of cards
shuffled on August afternoons. 
But even before that. Before a boot
comes loose at the sledding hill.
Buffalo nickels traded palm to palm.
Crawling through a field after
the other side wins. That’s when
it begins. Long before sprawling
on the floor to watch Hitchcock.
Way before you place your leg
gently on mine.

This poem first appeared in Eclectica and Verse Wisconsin.
Used here with the author’s permission.