by Sara Hutchinson
I stay in bed til 2 then get up
and open all the windows.
Make coffee and walk around
the 5 x 10 space I call my living room.
Turn my attention to the postcards
and photographs on the fridge.
Stare hard at all that evidence.
Whisper: See, there’s no reason to be lonely.
Smoke one cigarette and then another
on the steps out front.
Begin to cry over my own good luck.
I never told you this but the truth is
I would follow you to the edges of any map.
I never told you this
but that’s what scares me.
And it’s not just that I love you.
More often it’s a mixed melody
of the same idea,
which sounds quite a lot like: thank you.
Forgive me one last time. Come back.
This time I mean it.