for R
what I’d much rather to do is walk
into your Georgia home for the first
time, offer cactus honey from the desert,
dump my bag on the floor and twirl
around in a new purple skirt as if
I were only going through a phase.
I’d drink sweet tea and play endless
games of fetch with your grey-faced
dog as if there was still a way to invert
this crazy year. You’d tell me what it’s like
to live in the South, about gerimandered
lightning, pelican cousins on your fence
and how ladies like me take the time
to wish you a blessed day. When I go
outside to drink in the wet exotic air
you’ll whisper, sotto voce: “it’s every shade
of violet now, but by next week she’ll be
all sage green, creosote and ozone rain.”
