Posted on June 25, 2014
Soon to be published in Oberon Poetry Magazine
Forty years ago in a Congregational church,
no sense of proportion, we promised to love
each other forever. At that time in my life,
I didn’t even own a watch.
What I knew about forever, street corners and minutes
for the cross-town bus.
But listen: each year, after I die, I’ll speak to you
the floor vent in the day room.
And if you miss my call, that’s okay
as promised, plenty of time,
and when you pass away, I’ll be there waiting on
by the YOU’RE LEAVING IOWA sign.
When the sea rises, when the cities fall just a blink past
on our frogmarch to eternity—
when the sun explodes, turning earth into a cinder, I
love you like a teenager on forever’s old sofa
ever and ever, always together, you a white notebook,
me a red pen
just itching to write your name.