and now we’re home,
and watching the outside cats
sniff/fight over/eat the food
i set out for them every morning,
and i have cold coffee next to me,
and speakers playing music,
and everything is back to how it should be —
and it almsot feels like this weekend
didn’t even happen
[but this utter exhaustion speaks
for the drive and time awake
and stress and overnights
in not-our-own-bed
and lack of routine
from this past
weekend
i guess it had to have happened]
traveling
for a short weekend
away
isn’t the worst decision
to do so
to Boston
the weekend of
St. Patrick’s Day
and to inadvertently book
a hotel stay
in the heart of Irish Pub town
that maybe was a mistake…
a good trip
a quick one, but
a good trip.
a flight cancelled/stood-by/delayed
but arrived,
chill hangout time,
a birthday celebrated,
weeds pulled up,
min-golf putt-putted,
a bonfire burned,
many movies watched,
and resident foxes identified.
a good trip
a quick one, but
a very good trip.
a chill,
low-key,
relaxed,
un-pressured,
lazy summer day,
Tom Hanks movie-watching,
just spending time with each other
kind of a visit
and it sure seems
that was what
both of us
needed.
what is it about the smells
of places
from your past
that puts you
both at ease
and on edge
within one whiff?
even though we’re not
‘doing’
much in this visit,
simply spending time
is filling my days
and my heart
[happy birthday, Homer Daddy Dude!]
what is it about
lying next to a cat
that lulls me to sleep
faster
than just forcing myself to bed?
~~~
at least
being in my childhood bedroom
and gazing upon my
most-loved books
has reminded me that
it’s not just in adulthood
that i’ve found comfort in the
already known storyline
and re-consuming media
over and over and over again
(certain copies
of certain books
can attest to the fact that
i consumed them
over
and over
and over again
before i even hit puberty)
~~~
the internet
in this house
is struggling
almost as much as my sinuses
are fighting
to do their job well
(could the dust be blocking the wifi
like it’s blocking my nose???)
writing too fast
typing too slow
thinking too much
portrait of the overtired poet on a plane
also
when driving
takes the joy
out of the date of birth
(but time is a mortal construction,
both you and your spouse agree);
celebrating
the next day
is perfectly acceptable
(and even encouraged)
driving
on one’s birthday
(even when one generally enjoys driving)
is a bit of a let-down…
but at least
one can come home
to one’s loud and weird cat
and an ice cream cake for late evening
and general feelings of belonging
being back
in
new york city.
[home]
is it really
mon anniversaire?
is this really
la date de ma naissance?
it doesn’t feel like it
(nothing feels like anything anymore)
(but maybe it will
when we’re home again)
(after the drive)
kipventures 