Do you remember when I sent you that poem by Kim Addonizio and you said you had met her and had an autographed copy of one of her books?
Of course you remember. I don’t even know why I asked.
That Mississippi chicken shack.
That initial-scarred tabletop,
that tiny little dance floor to the left of the band.
That kiosk at the mall selling caramels and kitsch.
That tollbooth with its white-plastic-gloved worker
handing you your change.
That phone booth with the receiver ripped out.
That dressing room in the fetish boutique,
those curtains and mirrors.
That funhouse, that horror, that soundtrack of screams.
That putti-filled heaven raining gilt from the ceiling.
That haven for truckers, that bottomless cup.
That biome. That wilderness preserve.
That landing strip with no runway lights
where you are aiming your plane,
imagining a voice in the tower,
imagining a tower.
I’m still hovering here in the darkness
Aiming my heart at your tower.
Your voice is all I can hear.
This song keeps showing up.
I don’t know what it means.
But I wish you’d come down and see me again.
I could have loved you.
Maybe I already did.
Perhaps I still do.