windows on the world

Carol Banks Weber
Nov 24, 2020 · 2 min read

in my dreams
I look for a key
already in my front right pocket
next to the plane ticket
and a taped picture of you
and I, together in one of those funny
yearbook poses of the ‘70s

a window is always open
to the other side
storms and dinosaurs, seas and ice caps,
happy, shiny people in Eddie Bauer ads
sipping lattes in gleaming white cups,
their eyes peering over designer glasses -
celebrities, elusive, vibrant, and slightly vacant
when you ask them for the time -
as if they’ve seen a ghost, pass the scones, darling,
where was I?

it is my job to write down their names
in this love story that will never get published,
short of bringing a tear to your eye, you lost voyager,
off on another course for adventure, hat in hand,
backpack full of art supplies

you are the one they want for their next issue,
blockbuster movie, fashion regalia, where names fit neatly beside picture-perfect postcards of the French aristocracy in varying stages of undress, selling cologne and handbags

hotel room keys
room service
my room with one view
of childhood kisses,
stolen airport jewelry, silver chains,
the backhand of my bastard father,
“savage,” he spits,
ripping me up inside with words
that reward only those born into the role

I am here.

Originally published at https://carolbankswebercoggie.wordpress.com on November 24, 2020.

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