Wednesday, October 28, 2015

none

Hey, it's just me 
I'm calling because it seems especially dark this morning. 
And I can't find the cat, again

There is one too many empty beer bottles in the bin 
One too many pieces of bad pizza missing from the box 
And one too few pairs of boots by my back door

I'm sure you're busy but I was thinking 
about the night you brought me a sack lunch into the ER 
and all the nurses gushed with jealousy
  
I was thinking about the morning I sat on your back steps not wanting to leave  

The October chill, the November snow,
And the December I met death then I woke you in the middle of the night to tell you all about it

Do you miss the things I do?

Homemade bread and apple slices
Hikes in the pouring rain
Fighting in the middle of the street while pretending we're not
Camping in the desert
Streaking naked through the grass


The smell of the canoe in the hot sun
The sound the tent makes in the wind
The weightlessness of the Wasatch back in the snow

The distant lights of downtown framed in a frosty window at 65 mph
The smell of chlorine and cotton pajamas
The world of Harry Potter spoken in your voice to kids sprawled across our bed

Your New England habits that speak to my soul
Canadian pauses that never fails to trip up my wild west nerves
And yeah, I'm still pissed about the day 3 years ago that you drove us down a rough dead end road in search of a better camp spot when no one but you wanted to keep looking


Do you miss my stubbornness, an inability to seek help
my one trip policy about for hauling in grocery bags- no matter what
the way I wake you by jumping on the bed while precariously balancing 2 mugs of hot coffee 
the smell of cinnamon rolls baking right after I've proclaimed the house empty of food

The awkwardness of 2 adult bodies crammed in our tiny shower
night terrors I can't explain that bring us both to the edge
my inability to give directions
or tell you what is really inside my heart


 Yeah, I'm calling because the house is a disaster
the chickens loose in the yard 
the dogs, one fat, the other old
And after this long year alone I'm afraid I have become both of those things

I know I keep telling you that this isn't working for me
And it's really not

I want to run again down long lost roads until I am too tired to stand
I want to sleep under open skies
Walk pine covered mountains
Fall into the snow

But I was sort of wondering after all this is said and done if you might want to come with me?



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