Trailways 3

I go back some nights,
through time,
and tell myself
that I was right.
That I was brave.

I sit down gently next to
the me huddled in the back of the Trailways bus
hunched over my diary,
getting off to smoke at each stop.

I tell that me
that this is the right thing,
this terrible leaving
with no intent to return.
I tell that me
that I am right in giving up
what should be given up.

I take my hand
and tell that me
that the morning after the next one
will be better.

(I tell that me that the next morning
I will hardly remember,
but for the cold porcelain denting my forehead,
while I weep, vomit, and regret
vodka and entire years.)

I tell that red-eyed me:
“The morning after tomorrow
you will wake in the home of a friend
to a soft snow
and through the window
you’ll see a crapapple tree
dusted with snow.
And that day
will be the first day
of the right thing.”

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3 thoughts on “Trailways 3

  1. Anna Stewart says:

    This is gorgeous, friend. Heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time. The 3rd and 6th stanzas are my favorites and I love the image of the snow-dusted crab-apple tree. But the entire poem is clean and striking, beautiful.

  2. What a powerful story in such a few short words! Keep up the good work . . . and keep doing the right thing.

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