No one’s expense

I would tell you I know,
really know,
and I would not be lying.

I hope you would not find me
presumptious, precious. It is
messy inside this head and
this heart. You have seen
the chaos of the evidence:
the metaphor.

You have not seen the cellulite,
the crooked teeth, the wracked
sobbing, the fear, the pills—
some things do not travel
as well as others.
FDA regulations do not
permit reality in checked
or hand luggage.

I want to squeeze your hand.
I want to tell you I know about
two-sided coins, fine print, good
intentions, cracked glass, what-ifs.

I have driven this far in life
squinting more often than not
into the rear-view mirror,
moving forward only
in reverse.

I am circling my vehicle now,
climbing back inside. I have
removed the rear-view mirror,
discarded it on the side of
the new road. Animals will
marvel.

There is only so
much hindsight that
one can bear. I have
died of hindsight and
come back to tell.

You understand I am writing
to you. The rose. The pearl.
The moon. A shared ours:
The tides that we pull to us, hard
and fast and sure, then release
with shaking hands. Yes.
Saltwater is ours. No one
can tell me otherwise.

No one ever taught me this:
simple catch-and-release. You?
I envy those who pretend to know
the skill, those who swagger
away from their once-was,
no furtive glance over
a scraped, bloody shoulder.

Catch me looking. It’s all right.
I will catch you looking. We can
catch each other looking. I trust
those who share their lives
with a few ghosts.

I want happiness at no one’s
expense. Joy happens when we
are not paying attention to who’s
picking up the tab. I want it
to be otherwise. On TV, radiant
creatures suggest that it is
possible, that all is surmountable,
with enough commercial breaks.

I see you. A little. May I say that
I think you are beautiful?

I know that what you have created
and nurtured is beautiful.

I know the same warmth:
the weight of a child,
the calm after the ever-no storm,
a pair of tiny pajamas
fished from a hot dryer.
Pawprints and footprints,
fur and skin.

Maybe we could split the check?
Share the travel expenses
to this brave new world of promise
and pain and parting and so many
dare-I questions?

I speak the language enough
to make sure our coffee is always
hot and our wine is always red.
And if you can ask the locals
which way to the beach,
we’ll be set.

We can watch the
waves catch and release,
catch and release the shoreline.

Ah! Did I catch you laughing?
What? You caught me first?
Yes.

We both know that the
wind-tossed sand
always assumes
it’s the one doing
all that catching
and releasing.