Member Poem

tom bradley international terminal
 
i
we watched the otters float by on their backs
holding only what they wished to carry
being only where they were placed knowing nothing
other than human eyes watching from behind glass and
i saw myself in the reflection as a child pushed me aside
for a better view and i saw you
walking away.
 
ii
"table for two?" she asked and i nodded excessively because
i liked the sound of it. we shared a bench and i drank your favorite beer
and you tried the sushi i loved and our two worlds mixed together. i couldn't
stop touching you under the table because i still couldn't believe you were real.
 
iii
our taste buds touched and i knew how it felt to be an entree.
to be more than just the spice or the meat or the appetizer—the recipe
finally matched up. i finally knew what it was like to not crave more 
 
to be full.
 
iv
i jumped at the sound of glass shattering. some drunk asshole at the bar
was breaking things, breaking my eyes away from you, and the restaurant
cheered and screamed. 
 
"your city just won the stanley cup," you said, "congratulations." like
it was supposed to mean something to me.
 
v
drunk in the lobby of our favorite hotel we slurred words to the bellhop that i can't remember. we took the elevator up to the sixth floor and you asked me what i was thinking and i told you how strange the mirrors were as i moved the bags of my eyes around with my fingertips. the doors opened elegantly and our footsteps were masked by carpeted halls. your voice echoed down the hallway, "i can't stand mirrors," you said as you stopped dead in your tracks like you had dropped a thought on the carpet. "when i stare at them too long i kind of lose myself." 
 
the rest of the night the pupils of your eyes spelled out
 
i'm-losing-you
 
 
vi
the next morning on the way down to the street a woman in military attire was puking on the side of the road while her girlfriend sat in the car. i asked if she needed water, she was bothered and shook her head with precision. 
 
i watched my reflection in the automatic glass doors, but it was severed by the
valet running through me.
 
and i lost myself

(previously published in Chaparral)