Misty Maine Morning

I’m here. Now. This time. I’m sorry about last time. Probably it’s all the same to you, but to me, it matters.

It matters that I smell you. That I have time to taste the blueberries and meet the locals. That I laugh and drink PBR with your wiley ones, and talk about your wiley ones with your maternal ones.

I rejoice when the loons call. I throw my head back to hoot at the thunder. I can’t stay dry and I don’t want to.

This grass is so green, I don’t think about what’s on the other side. There is no other side. Not this time.

I miss Mamma and Sara-Tide in every parking lot, but they walk with me anyway.

I miss Lu, but her ashes are in my front pocket.

I miss Montana, but that makes me glad. My family, gladder.

It’s bitter sweet, but I hope to miss all kinds of things and to never miss a thing. The magic comes when you begin to understand that all of this is possible.

We’re together when we’re apart. Though, they say no two things are ever truly touching. So I guess tonight, I drink to the space between. Turns out we’re always going to be there. It feels like somewhere.

If love isn’t walking with me, then somebody drugged me good!