You are not who you were
which is not
you are no longer who you were
I see you different-
so differently now.
Through eyes that opened
and so I come back here now
at first, feel
No sinking, no sublimation.
Feelings as flat as this land,
until I drop in the grass
and remember not who
you were but who I was.
The dreams I birthed here, along with two baby girls
and your kindnesses shown me-
my art. Remember?
And I see that we tried here in the field of dreams for a miracle
but it was not heaven,
nor was it hell. It was -
Vast space for trying. I've realized lately that I'm not much good at anything
My talent is for trying.
It's the air and
the breeze of this state.
My aspirations swaying like the clothes
I hung on the line in the back yard.
The clouds trick memories with
fluffiness, prompting pretty
Maybe it wasn't your fault.
But I can't come
back or go back
because, also, your arms around me,
that sensation is
so vague, I have my doubts
as to its truth.
And we departed like thieves in the night,or rather,
I did, you'd left much earlier and somehow I knew I was leaving for good and
taking my heart with me, there would be no turning back.
And I see two people we sort of knew
within the first hour
and why do I blurt out
because the first has read my words and knows
and so when I tell it to
the next and she asks
was my choice, I pause just long enough
that my answer sounds a bit less than
honest. And then it's awkward, me sharing
with a stranger. I don't miss this lack of
It's funny how places have a way of defining, how they represent so much.
How they transport
in our blood so that even a three year old seems to sense that she belongs here, if only by
"I want to
be alone here," she tells me. And I get it.
It's how I feel enveloped by the heat
driving past low, brown mountains. She
marks the need by lack of city noise and softer weather.
I envy her in a way,
this place can't
Why I feel only a hazed sense of familiarity here. There's still
few places or people I want
Sitting close to my mother,
wanting this closeness
I see what
this place means to her,
that she knows it's in
I understand. I see that she, too,
chooses isolation here and also
I see why I do not.
These homes, temporary though
give illusion of permanence and though our minds chart many a course, our hearts stay
But I just wish I could remember us better. Here or there or anywhere. It's fading so quickly
Was it ever real?
Or was this
time and place laid low
like a shadow, an imitation of our