The Corner of 27th and Sunday.

I was startled earlier, on the street, got out of my car into the chilly night air, and heard a woosh.
I thought my tire had popped or that there was a car coming but it was actually
just water rushing around underneath me.
I really just forgot what those things were called where the noise was coming from – manhole covers?

In Arizona, where I’m from, you never hear such a thing, unless its monsoon season.
So, for a second I smelled mesquite, sage, dust, thought I smelled home.
Thought I smelled like my father.

Instead I was standing around on the corner,
about to get all awkward in front of her friends again
who are my friends
who look at me with worried brows, and chuckle uncomfortably.

How do I do this?
Its been so long. I’m just not good at it. I have no filter,

I have a hard time getting over things.

I stood for a long time in the dark, listening to the engine in my car click and settle
listening to all that water

I imagined that some of it came from the ocean and some of it came from the sky and
I imagined
and I imagined

She wont call me – and thats okay. I dont really have anything new to report except
that I miss her far less than I imagined I would because
of course the minute our lips first met I imagined the water, her inevitable decision that I wasn’t the right one.
Of course, I imagined that I simply wasnt.
I know that she’s not my one – either.

So, Im standing in the street on some Sunday thinking about the current beneath my feet,
licking at my ankles, dampening my socks
smelling like something familiar
smelling like something that is empty

I didn’t wish for her in those moments
and I didn’t wish for anyone else either – I just listened
and
then I remembered how to move.

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