by Sara Pirkle<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
At the airport, I whispered his name into my fist
\nand tossed both syllables in the recycle bin.<\/p>\n
If I could let go of my voice calling him,
\nmaybe I could let go of sin. Don\u2019t judge.<\/p>\n
Given the chance, I would live that month
\nover and over: all its muddy guilts and thrills.<\/p>\n
Again, I\u2019d stoke a campfire with a stick
\nwhile he whittled a spoon for his wife,<\/p>\n
the blade blinking like a baby in the firelight.
\nI would study him again from every angle:<\/p>\n
soaping his groin in the shower, towel-drying his hair,
\nlying in lamplight while he talked about her.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d again fill spiral notebooks with metaphors
\nfor the laugh hidden inside his throat.<\/p>\n
Again, let his naked fingertips trace my ribs,
\nlight as a pianist touching a new piano\u2019s keys.<\/p>\n
Again, let my heart pirouette like a music
\nbox ballerina whenever he left my room.<\/p>\n
Better than sitting on the tarmac in Hartford,
\nfeeling like an old mistress at the end of her life,<\/p>\n
a continent slowly unrolling between us like a poem
\ninside a bottle, inside a suitcase, saying goodbye.
\n <\/p>\n
Sara Pirkle is an identical twin, a breast cancer survivor, and a board game enthusiast. Her first book, The Disappearing Act<\/em> (Mercer University Press, 2018), won the Adrienne Bond Award for Poetry. She also dabbles in songwriting and co-wrote a song on Remy Le Boeuf\u2019s album, Architecture of Storms<\/em>, which was nominated for a 2023 GRAMMY in the Best Large Jazz Ensemble Album category. She is an Associate Director of Creative Writing at The University of Alabama.<\/p>\n
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