Friday, June 21, 2013

The states I crossed


I think about the states I crossed
As I'm lying in your arms.
Five years have passed
Since I spanned their widths
On the wheels of a car
Rolling reluctantly away.
First there was California--
A phone call I didn't want to take.
Next came Arizona,
A freak snowstorm at 4 a.m.
And "Feliz Navidad" on the Spanish-language radio
Again and again
Like a crazy incantation,
Desperate and in denial.
I didn't stop till Albuquerque,
A Motel 6, or 8, or 10,
A room that wasn't yours.
There might have been Texas.
Kansas or Oklahoma, I don't remember which.
A Waffle House lit up in the night
Like a shoebox made of glass
At the end of the world.
Arkansas, maybe. Tennessee probably.
And home to Virginia
Where I was as opposite to you
As the moon is to the sun.

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