As if I needed
another reminder
of you
in winter,

It was your idea
to park and watch the elephants
swaying among the trees
like royalty
at that make-believe safari
near Laguna.
I didn’t know anything that big
could be so quiet.

My children were born in spring,
Summer’s promise on bow shaped lips
bones not yet knit together
pledge
oceans and seas
straits and channels
with lifetime alliance
cast solid and true.

The King
Give me fast cuts so my chickens won’t hatch.
Give me steeples and red carpet in the skyline.
Give me protest and festivity in the streets.
Give me anyone but her and anywhere but here.

There are always clues. Sometimes it’s as simple as a new sound. It’s the clicking fingernails of a small dog scurrying against hardwood floors, when you have neither. It’s the way the air tastes. It could be that the pillows are too thin, or the texture of unfamiliar sheets against your skin. But it’s always something, and you know immediately. Without realizing how you got there, or even opening your eyes, you know that you are in a strange bed, and it is unsettling.