(from the moon series)
Has bags packed. Ready for vacation
from stars. A slow melting on beach.
A black drive through construction
zone. One pole rotates slower than the other.
Nerves settle in. Why does this always happen
she says. Therapy sessions come back.
Stands in the foyer, sweaty palms. Waits.
Licks lips. Drives through scenarios.
She folds her arms and rain starts.
Another year of work, another thousand euros.
Lightning flashes. Breath heavy. The first steps
of a rabid journey. The mountains and the memories
of dogs, always dogs. Thunder now. Door closes.
I'm sorry he says I'm not ready yet.
The subject and your approach in this poem reminds me of Raymond Carver, even though the medium and your style is so different.
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