On Trying to Break Up Well

22ndFeb. × ’08

We’re in the aftermath
of a paddle passing forward—
growing concentric circles
decreasing droplets, wondering if
you’ve sucked me dry.

It is not this simple,
the seaweed has my paddle,
and the river is no sink.
It continues, and we lack drain
pipes or any attachment
to self, still together.

On the bus home,
I nearly fall in
the portable toilet.

Where did the river go?
This is not the way kissing began.
We tell ourselves this is kindness,
romanticize herons
hidden in reeds.

Nurture knows not
where we went
for the weekend.

In the quiet
we hear sirens,
the city calling,
even time.

I will miss you,
I think, as the bus bumps back
to New York City.

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