You cooked dinner and I tried not to notice the small differences
since I'd been gone. Mexican Night: simple taquitos.
Corn. Black beans. Tomatoes. Over lean beef that will inevitably
over cook. We joke that food is never spicy enough since leaving Arizona.
The cat is acting needy, you tell me. We talk about our days,
the current and those that have past in between the last time
we sat down together and supped. There is no blood here,
and no body either, and no more salvation.
Keep the conversation light. Polite and pleasant.
Your voice echoes in my mind, back when you said
we were both rational... that we were both reasonable.
It didn't have to be difficult, you said.
I find myself faking chit chat and laughter
as I pile on the red pepper. The burn
always makes it better, keeps me present
in these moments I want to fall into my emotions
like one more failed baptism. It'll be okay, I tell myself
if I avoid your eyes – eyes that have been the only ones
that ever really saw me. I wish the water were bourbon
and then I could be a demon
and it would all be so much easier
and you could remember
and I could forget, just for a moment
that this is something we both need.
The disbursement of things has been easy, at least.
Packing at the end of a relationship (I'd forgotten)
always brings out my unsentimental side,
makes me want to burn all the memories out of my brain,
start fresh. But that only works in the mythology of crash and burn.
This is the one about 40 years of wandering the desert,
being led by columns of smoke and fire and praying for manna.
So there's no point in squabbling over DVD's and kitchenware.
Sitting on the porch after dinner smoking, you ask me
if I feel better. I confess I've stayed too long, that Out There
is calling me. My discomfort shows. We speak casually
of divorce, like butchers dismember carcasses for steak.
I can hide behind the pipe smoke
so long as I avoid looking in your eyes,
where I might be tempted to say
Save me. Take, eat, this is my heart.
[I normally post poetry here. But since the poetry is tied to the traveling and experiences of the travel log, I'll be posting more of it here... especially as it relates.
Thanks for reading. Remember, if you like what you read:
- Pass the link.
- Hit the donate button on the right and contribute to the Travel Fund.
Every little bit helps, especially as I gather steam to push westward.]