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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required You came home from Quebec, you were never alone; your shadow chased you around town like a dog in love or out of love. They told me you have been to places where flies sat conveniently on the ledges of your lips, you've eaten ugali with your fingers, someone else's fingers, soaked in saliva and the red juices of greens and beef liver I remember you leaving Scott County to drive along the roads of summer with green trees waving at you. You were famous. You sent a picture of Niagara. Before a mirror, I saw my eyes in the falls that should've lectured you, then you sent Alberta dressed in flora and sunshine, but before a mirror, I saw where sorrow dug trenches in my brow. At sunsets, I watched the tired lights walked slowly westward like an old lady on quad cane ... and I forgot the sound of my name on your lips When July entered our town with loud children, you were in Whistler. His mother is continuing in Paris, and poor James, God rested his bones somewhere in London. You killed me with Yellowknife when you spoke of the northern lights, but not once questioned my lonesome nights in White Sulphur where fresh winds licked the skirt of a White horse to ignite a horseplay You say Saint John spoke proudly of Como, so I searched the map to find you where you would sit to sip something that spoke proudly of Campari Spritz. I found Whistle Pig Stout. Some nights, I'd search for you when my finger was tired of scooping peanut butter from a jar. I traced from Revelstoke to Squamish, then to Halifax, but I found no lobsters big enough to keep you there. You called about Ottawa, and I found Rideau Canal, a lazy river that still works for the people. You told me Tofino spoke proudly of Costa Del Sol, so I searched the map to find you where you would drive along something that spoke proudly of Ruta del Sol y del Aguacate. I found Chesterman Beach Road. December drove you home, pulling down your dress to cover the spots where the cold winds were touching you. I am getting used to being single. Written 03\28\20
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