Shifting Decks

**line breaks are screwed up in this format... i just got to l.a. a few hours ago though and am extremely tired after two long days of 12+ hours of driving.**


Shifting Decks



Leaving is many parts
meeting new people and the feeling
of time lost and “Don’t hug me for more than ten seconds” because I’ll cry
(and in front of all these people at that)
and then also feeling “thanks for making me cry” thanks so
much for that for allowing me to spill myself onto your shoulder

food on the grill during the evening affair and then hummingbirds
at my Mom’s house
but wait, that’s skipping parts
steps, but that’s leaving
how places can be very similar and how one of my first poems was
“When the Hummingbird’s Hum Ceases to Hum” about death
in a sort of Keatsian manner, how funny that is

deck conversations, realizing what months
can be
and airing jeans on the line and snapping photos of them to get
a laugh
and cats that seem immortal

talking about new friends to old friends
and discovering role models

poems coming together on the road, one of them was
title “I Was Almost Crying Forty Miles Ago and Pulled Off the Road to Write This Especially for Earl and Phill”
body “I
love
you.”
but we all know that’s not a poem
and finding connections before departures realizing missed
opportunities
it’s casting lines out and breathing
camping overnight

feeling joy for buying baby food
for my little nephew
it’s “I’ll see you again”s that are both sincere and not

and a stick-shift in my hand
and great smells
seen but hidden by goodbye cigarettes
a walk in the woods I grew up in
showing my dad a poem

and it’s going to keep happening and it’s coming true and yes, it could be.

And if nothing else, it’s lots of hugs and taking chances,

and kissing vulnerability on the cheek,
backing away with a little wink.