I ate soup at four o’clock in the morning, cream of tomato,
at the table under the chandelier with one bulb burned out.
I thought about parks and picnic tables
and how if we could cover the distance,
we could sit at one of those tables in one of those parks,
but the miles are blocked by towers of suitcases
and trunks that hold so much we can’t push them
out of the way (It’s not impossible, I said to the empty bowl
and the blinking laptop, whose eye never sleeps).
Maybe you’re right, maybe all the parks and all the tables
are just too hard to get to, what with all that luggage in the way.
Until we hire a truck, I’ll be over here in the park by myself,
the one at the end of the street where the dogs can run free,
and you can sit on a picnic table in the park where you are,
with your bike locked up tight against the chain link fence.
Mirand graduated from Marylhurst University with a degree in English Literature and Writing, Now she sells books in Portland, OR, and always carries an umbrella.