This is an old poem, and not one of my favorites. However, it was the first one to make it into my college lit mag, and today I am sharing it because one of its lines has been rattling around my head for the past month. I'll talk about that after the poem.
You can have me here,
As you watch the yellow lines blink on and off and
I watch the passing farmhouse with my feet on the dash.
Neither of use notice that the radio has turned to talk--
Hypnotized by the windshield wipers,
Subdued by gray sky,
Each of use overly aware of the other's presence.
You can have me there,
As you philosophize on the lives of the people at the next table and
I gaze at auburn stars on beige foam of brown-oil-slick ocean I hold in my palm.
We drift aimlessly among the shops and cafes,
Feet hitting pavement,
Hands shoved deep in pockets,
Driven to silence by this city at night.
You can have me anywhere you please,
As your voice travels to me in waves and
I search for your eyes that never see the same thing twice.
We are bathed in the soft glow of Christmas lights,
Bodies loosely tangled,
Hair wrapped in our fingers,
Laughter spilling off our tongues and teeth, dripping like honey from our lips.
When you say my name, I release a breath I didn't know I was holding.
You have me where you want me.
I wrote the poem my freshman year of college. But lately, one line has been echoing--driven to silence by this city at night. I think of it as I leave a place in DC, walking back to my car to head home. But tonight, tonight, as I was driving home, so much about this city made me laugh--the girls running across the street as the light changed to read when they were halfway across, the crowd waiting to get into Thai-phoon, the people so wrongly dressed for the neighborhood they were in, the quiet that you get when you hit the part of town that's all memorials museum and federal offices, and in general, just the joy of hanging out with good friends.
Anyway, I hope you all have a great weekend!
Round up is over at The Holly and the Ivy.