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We cried together for a long time.
Finally I said, “Make love to me.
I need to remember how it feels.”
It felt rough. Like punishment.
Punishment for his own pain.
I REMEMBER HOW IT FELT
All the way to Fresno.
Ms. Shreeveport tries
to make conversation.
For about fifteen minutes.
I surround myself with
a silence-bricked wall.
Finally she gets it.
You’ve got a lot on your mind.
Well, yeah. Like not
knowing what’s coming
next. Like wondering why
my life can’t remain static.
Like thinking about
Kyle and me, on the seat
of his truck, learning
how much real love hurts.
Like remembering what
he said, when our tears
had dried. On the surface.
Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.
I WASN’T IN LOVE
With Bakersfield. (Only
with a guy who lives there.)
But I already hate Fresno.
