Pilgrimage
Published by Zone 3 – November, 2018
I kiss my fantasies goodbye each night.
Still, when I see a young woman wearing pink
rubber boots with jeans tucked-in tight,
and carrying a yellow umbrella,
it’s like glimpsing myself through the rain.
I know if I steal her yellow umbrella,
I’ll once again wear my red silk camisoles
and cashmere robes, so with fevered steps
I rush to rob her, but she moves too fast.
Breathless, I shift my direction
to a distant peak, painting it copper
in the sun, and while gazing at horizons,
I hear loved ones whisper tender
distractions from my mouth.
Then my apartment crackles underfoot,
and lying beneath the floorboards,
my long-saved bits of gold glow luminous,
rise and pivot around my fingers as I grab them
and give them to my son, and because I’m giddy,
my head falls forward, resting on the beat
within his wife’s belly—a pulse so dense
with nature it takes my breath away
and like ancestors before me,
I skip circles down the mountain.