As I left my hotel room this morning,
I felt that familiar sensation of forgetting
something
I could not find what I was looking for
behind the headboard in the fridge under the coffee table
Could it have been my toothpaste but no the
bathroom sink was bare
I could not find what I was looking for
In my search, I heard from within the shower a low quiet
wailing and when I slid the door open
I saw myself but smaller paler shinier. Frail
and shriveled and covered in wet,
the pitiful thing lay shaking like a dog on her deathbed
It must have emerged from me last night when my mom
called from home,
so far away from it as I was,
must have cut out through my back then stitched my
spine up cold and bumpy
My grief left a stain in the shower,
I imagine it will be hard to get out, like that pesky
little splotch of mold in the corner of the ceiling
that just does not want to leave
or maybe cannot leave.
I tried to pick up the sickly thing, but as I reached
out to it,
I reached right through it
My hands shook so quickly they passed right
through her
I found what I was looking for but I could not
carry it.
I sat with it a while longer and listened to it cry,
wondered when again I would have to say with
finality
another goodbye on a cell phone,
not even a landline to tether me to home,
so far away from it as I would be,
and continue life as if life continued
I could not abandon it there
but I could not miss my flight,
so I left
that thing, that part of myself on a cold
shower floor face down in Chicago
I regret that she thinks I left her with
indifference,
as if I had a choice.
At the airport I realized I forgot my
shampoo. I guess I forgot to look up.
