Away

It’s early morning when he leaves for the west coast, but you haven’t the time to think about it truly before your own car awaits. Stand on a street corner in an unknown part of town and flag her down, giggle like school girls all the way to the turnpike. 

The place is enormous, hidden in dancing mountains and northern boreal forests, you get lost three times in the dark Victorian paneling before finding your room. There are rocking chairs on the porch and you think you could spend a week there alone, watching the water sway and glitter. We hiked to the top of the cliff and they said you can see six states from here; I still couldn’t see you so I wasn’t sure the point. I sat in a steam room later and let all the demons evaporate from my pores: they were many, but I was persistent. I left with skin like a baby and spirit like a saint. 

I know I return to all the usual, to taxes and tooth ache, to unanswered questions and the emptiness you leave when you go, but for a short gleaming moment, all is still in my mind, for a short gleaming moment, I’m at peace. All the usual returns, but maybe I can meet them better than I was before.