The duvet waves like soft sky,

reflection of pacific sea.

In elegance, the curtain falls

to floor. Trust curtails

sunlight when I sleep late.

I dreamt he missed me,

past tense. I dreamt I was

descending a steep ladder

with a woman above

a lively café. Before us,

a gap opened as a man

stepped, and he fell through.

I told the woman:

we will have to wait here.

I couldn’t move up or down.

Sleep is a gentle walk

through more leaving.

Awake, I notice too much.

Today marks a secret

anniversary. The longest

silence between us.

My apostrophe key

has a crumb underneath.

Wowed by imperfection,

I press harder. Rain,

ripple the pool.

Winter sun, fall

and fall down.

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Dear Friend I Haven't Met Yet

 

I’m ensconced on a street between

a McDonald’s and a university in the

Deep South. To find me, just follow

the inimitable sound of Bob Dylan

on a turntable barely playing at the wrong speed,

pass the pair who play Mazzy Star too late,

then take the stairway above the pool.

If you find a preppy guy in sandals

quickly opening and closing his door,

you’ve gone too far. I had two interactions

with insects today, and this was a low

insect interaction day. One was only

a set of wings that appeared, translucent

against the wood floor, so it really

shouldn’t count, but I saw a tiny body

attached. The other was a speck

of striped beetle I’ve seen before

in obscure boxes of grain, linens

occasionally. I bought scented bleach

to save thirty cents, and now my bed

smells like the best hotel (my) money

can buy. Do I regret it? Nah. I will soon

eat cookies, cheese, drop enough

cracked pepper cracker crumbs

to cancel any reminder of roadside travel,

continental breakfasts, scratchy sheets.

 

All those nights I lodged alone though

each one of my feet is perfect, the handshake

of a dog. I could be Queen somewhere,

somebody’s jewel, but unfortunately, no one

has found me. It’s dark too early, people

complain lately. It’s sunset at 4:00 o’clock.

I think, sorry, sister, I didn’t see you making

much use of late afternoon anyway.

Or is it long daylight you crave?

If you took it in like warm wind has its way

with cottage curtains, I never noticed.

I only complain when it’s worth my while.

You know, about the worst things. I say

the stuff that makes one valiant to say:

“This needs salt. That bathroom is out

of toilet paper. Your lights! Your lights

are off!” Thankfully, the fear of wasting

one’s life may be innate to our species,

a mutation that pushes us onward.

 

The desire to read until satisfied is how

I’ve gathered favorite words. For instance,

I learned that roaches have multiple gaits

with which they amble in and out of our lives.

The leggy insects tango from nightmares,

strut over our dreams. I stumbled

on this detail of diverse gait and gaiety

looking for why they always seem

to walk near baseboards and molding.

If given one wish, I couldn’t decide.

But if forced, I’d say I’d like a companion,

please. Someone to kid but never tease.

Someone to protect from the boredom

of material comforts.

 

I used to pray to a god whom I believed

I had the personal ear of when I hurt

myself as a kid. My prayer is memorable

because its brevity, please god, repeated

mentally until the pain passed, and

of course, the physical kind always did.