You’ve exercised
communed in nature
done your writing drafts
posted to your blog
you’re in the haven of space you’ve been craving
your six-year old is gone for the night
its time to exit the house this evening
but all your girlfriends are married
the men you know are out of range

you dress to go to the post office
where your box is empty
you can’t go home just yet
last stop, the dreaded bakery
where you know all resources have been exhausted
and you are in a very sorry state

another soul much in the same duress is there
that intense poet with the long hair
and undying crush on you
he is enthused you are without child tonight
asks you if you’d care to join him for a drink next door
having nothing but an empty home awaiting you
you acquiesce
and toast
Patron margaritas, salt, on the rocks

the poet licks his rim with a full flat tongue
you look away
reach for common ground
talk about music
discuss writing
he has another cocktail
you continue sipping
until he encourages one more
you say yes to two
he goes for three
and eventually the bill comes

you offer to pay your portion
he says no, sees the total, and questions the bartender
the rate doesn’t seem like
Happy Hour
as you leave he tells you the restaurant sign is a trick
the sky turns tangerine
you ask him if he wants to walk
he agrees and picks you a Tahitian gardenia

he mentions again the cost of drinks
says it was a $50 tab – $10 a drink
that does seem high
you only needed one
he insisted on paying
and now he insists on talking about it

you think of your old lover
the one still in your heart
the one you’ve been talking about to the poet man for the last half hour
how he paid for everything
didn’t want a thank you
how he had such grace
generosity

you walk towards the sunset
there is little wind
August heat at sundown
the poet takes off his shirt
and like with the salt lick
you look away
try to ignore
wonder what he’s thinking
realize you don’t want to know
it’s time to go home
the sky is dark
he’s mentioned three movie rentals and a doobie
you’re thinking about more writing and the comfort of your bed

once home and feeling reckless
you text old lover
though he’s probably asleep in his own time zone
tell him you may be inappropriate
but you miss him
wish he was there with you

3am you wake with a headache
toxic from crappy expensive cocktails
iPhone sounds
old lover texts
“Oh honey!”
and you’re melting
you long for clarity
and a long conversation
you’re not being inappropriate
he misses you too
he’s in Calgary
but no phone call for you
two ibuprofen and sleep with the phone by your head

groggy in the morning light
you think on the frugal poet
arguing quietly with the bartender about the check
wish you’d never had a cocktail
laugh at writing material that can never go public
because the poet will know who he is

the Calgary lover is absent
and you’ll be all day with the missing
you walk the beach to nurture your spirit
try to do what’s best for yourself
but the blue grey sky
dim-lit morning
only remind you of old lover
the day at that beach together
overcast light and rain showers
how he held you
as the squall passed
stood so still
so strong
so silent
his coat wrapped around your bare skin
your chests pressed together
just breathing
in that silence it felt as though
anything
anything could happen
and he would be there
to feel it
breathe through it
and hold you

today you walk the sand and scan for treasure
you are alone and cloudy
your skin feels the soft early air
the ache in your heart
familiar
these cliffs have held you in this space for years
watched you walk the sands alone
looking North to the sea and seeing nothing but vast horizon
words flood your mind
all the words you’d send to Calgary
all the poetry spills forth
how you want to shout it all
the emotions and the longing
the passion
the great deep vast love
you think that maybe if you shared it
the words would shake him up
move his heart to plane reservations
and a direct from Calgary to the tropics
where he’d walk this beach with you

Instead
you lie down in the soft sand
remember that your father told you to let the land hold you
you feel the sand support you
and sigh
smell the slight scent of alcohol coming through your pores
with the memory
of no shirt and too sweet a margarita mix

the ocean beckons and you dive in
her waters cleanse you
a single man jogs by
you smile cordially
want to hide in your bikini
cover up and get dry

walking step by step
back to your empty house
where you feel
all you’ve been trying to hide
the empty space where he once was
now in Canada
out of range

your range is pencil and paper
no girlfriends are around
you write
make playlists for the radio
plot workshops to attend in winter in the forest where you first met him
wonder why those big trees whispered
he’d be your husband
though he didn’t want a family

nothing comes from Calgary
it’s sort of a relief
but further punctuates the loneliness
he is not here

and He was not at the post office
He was not at the fake Happy Hour
He is not the father of your six year old
He
this ever-elusive He
the He you’ve sensed and doubted and hoped for your whole life
has not come smiling
offering to take your hand and keep you close

Love has passed in squalls and showers
making brief appearances in its contact
then exited the scene
never to stay

and you are here on this couch
with a pencil becoming a stub from the words
describing this journey
sensing Him so close and yet so far