after Sarah Gambito
I have a canoe that gives me therapy my insurance won’t cover.
The man I love calls me from Colorado, unaware of my canoe.
It offers a better kind of cognitive behavioral, in very turquoise water.
The man says his mother is dying & I say I know but nothing is clear.
I pay the canoe with my best Christopher Walken impressions.
It becomes clear that Colorado is where all calls are from, how did I not know.
He says his mother has a couple of months.
The canoe says to eat five cookies, then canoe off the calories.
He says he saw snow in New Mexico on the way to Colorado.
I see how my past is a nun who knows a lot of state birds & my future is a
He says his sister is having a child.
He says it’s snowing & his sister is pregnant & his mother is dying so they
probably won’t be able to go on as many rides at Disney.
I say okay & I see but neither is true.
The sky shuts its geese-filled mouth.
Between the canoe & me there is no more discourse.
I wait for him to come back. I wait for Colorado to go away.