It comes from the most twist-turned places
this yearning
idle speculation about a favorite lotion
into memories of the exact store alignment:
location of lotion
location of olives in relation to lotion
location of cheese (near olives)
and the sensation of humidity after frigid air con
as I walk back to my car
or digital comments on facebook photos
trigger a cascade of ruminations on
this man's face under my stroking palm
wet from his pool
which is surrounded by certain flowers
the scent of which mingles just so to
make the humid summer air
the perfect consistency for deep breaths, fireflies, tumbling
or the new age music program I digitally and religiously record
playing now on my computer with my window open
sketches, colors, then completes a portrait-
my house (no longer), alight with our sounds
and our lights, windows open to
release the day's heat to the broken
humid air and Mum knitting
and Dad reading and my sister drawing
and me, me, at my door returned safe
from friends who want to see me, from a date
from a job at a hospital, a Starbucks,
from driving under the summer night sky
And everything is whole
everything is predictable.
And I do not feel so alone at night.
