coins

penniless and poor are
two different things

airplane to nowhere

I am seated on the plane. I am taking a flight to I-don’t-know-where, but this fact is hardly prevalent or important. I think I am about twelve-ish rows back. In any case, directly behind my seat is a bulkhead separating me from the next compartment. I have an aisle seat and the seats all around me are occupied. As is the aisle, as the last passengers file into the plane, and manipulate their carry-on luggage into the various over-head and under-seat storage areas.

I see you coming down the aisle…you are so beautiful, but I divert my eyes because for as much as I want to see you, I am still unsure how to reintroduce myself to you. And overall I am still unsure if I can let you back in yet. You are with, I think, your mother and maybe also your sister, and as you file past me I can no longer withhold my gaze–I turn my head up to look at yours as you turn your head to meet mine. These clothings you’re wearing are somewhat eccentric, wrapping you in yellow and bright green.

The crowd forces your continuation down the aisle but I crane my neck around to maintain eye contact with you, and you do the same. Our expressions are somewhat solemn. Neither knows how the other feels, neither knows what to do next.

You disappear to the other side of the bulkhead.

lunch

i am seated at a long white dining table; one designed for inexpensiveness and efficiency. Its is perfectly suited for its surroundings which is either a cheap fast food restaurant or cafeteria of some kind. The people sitting around me are unknown to me, but we are packed into the table, sitting as close as friends and family, and everyone is in a jovial mood, eating and drinking and sharing with those around them.

Finally I notice that you are seated to my right, one or two occupied seats away from me. And as I take note of your presence, those individuals separating us are gathering their containers, plates, and plasticware and departing. You notice me too, and while we don’t particularly acknowledge each other, neither are we ignoring each other. Moments later I begin to gather my things, and as I am standing up, so do you. But you are a moment behind me, and I observe that the tattoo on the back of your neck is gone–removed by laser–I can see new skin where it once was, still healing.

As I turn toward the exit, I allow my hand to brush ever-so-briefly against yours. In doing so, I’m inviting you back into my life, but cautiously, because I know that if we are not in similar places of need and want–if I let my emotions take control again, the inequity could send me back down that same depressed path I’ve already walked. How can I be sure this will not happen again?

A few steps later and I feel your hands wrapping around my waist, and your mouth exhales a worrisome “oh” indicating an indulgence in some forbidden act–as though you are taking a risk by making contact, but cannot resist the urge. I am surprised and pleased and a little stressed to be feeling your touch–its been a long time. I turn to meet you, sliding your hands into mine. Now the two of us are leaned against a wall, looking into each other. Our expressions are somewhat solemn. Neither knows how the other feels, neither knows what to do next.

compare

i’ve met a girl who keeps pace with my bicycle
and one who can teach me which plants are edible

i’ve met one who captivates me with her writing
and another who makes me feel alive in bed

I’ve met a woman who spins my mental threads
into a quilt of philosophy with her own

and one who plays word games well
but disappointingly, i usually win

I’ve met a girl who shares my dreams of traveling
and one with whom I can enjoy doing nothing

but none of us are drawn
as i am drawn to you

as you are drawn to me
as we are drawn to we

sprocket

it was just yesterday you confessed
and last night i dreamt of reunion
how fitting then, that
i should

nearly catch up to you
at the 34th street signal
but i hang back,
away from detection

the light turns green
((relief))
our encounter…inevitable?
delayed for another mile

words greetings engorge
even my taste buds
but my heartstrings just
quiver unknowingly

so i creep slowly behind
once or twice this distance
closing as close as i’ve
been to you in months

approaching 13th street,
i am contemplative when
my buzzing sprocket
forsakes my stealth

hearing the noise,
you glance back ever
so briefly just enough to
make my stomach dip

and i wonder
did you know it was me?
or did my silhouette
obscure the setting sun?

you speed ahead pumping
your magnificently athletic legs
to the beat of your ego
and i turn left

keys

I step onto the landing at the top of the interior stairwell leading to “your” second-story apartment. The paint is white but dirty in that way that most inexpensive housing in Gainesville is only minimally maintained. This domicile bears little resemblance to the house I know you to live in, but in this astral realm, it is your home.

My intent is to return a painting–a smallish white canvas on which you have composed an image using only solid black lines. But some short time ago I dipped my own brush into black pigment, and added a figure of a man, representing myself.

After first softly knocking, I twist the doorknob but it is locked. The first key on my ring–the key to my own house–small, brass, and tarnished from use, does not work. So, I try the very next key on the ring–it is silver and shiny, and it aligns the pins and spins the tumbler with satisfying ease.

I’m not sure if you are here(?) and feel a little uneasy as I walk into your space. And while traversing the room, I catch a glimpse of you crossing an interior doorway. By this time I have set the painting on the table and turned back toward the front door, feeling an urgency to go. But by halfway across the room the urge disappears and is replaced instead by a new urge to stop and turn around.

When I turn around you are standing directly in front of me, your eyes shining into mine and your face radiating a glowing copper smile.

We say nothing but take each others hands in each others hands, now resting our heads on a soft couch or pillow, but never unlocking our stare.

Accepting, and loving.