Independence
Someday, I’ll wake up
and not jump right out of bed
to make your coffee.
I’ll write a few lines of poetry
without another page open
so it looks like
I’m doing something else.
I won’t watch what I say
when my friends call, not care
what message I’m sending
if I laugh a bit too hard.
Someday, I’ll sit on the front porch
watching people pass
and say hello to everyone.
I’ll read a book in silence
from beginning to end
without the television on
in the background.
I’ll sit on the couch
with no shirt on
and run my hand over the
soft places you never noticed.
Someday, I’ll walk the streets of Europe
without sensing your
lingering essence there.
I’ll sip wine at an outdoor restaurant
and never wonder if
you’d shared that table
with someone else.
I’ll dance all night in a dive
and return the shy smile
of the girl behind the bar.
I’ll wear a silky shirt
that begs to be touched
and jeans that stick
to all the right curves
and my eyes will pierce,
and question, and invite.
Someday, I’ll return to where I knew you
and not think of you at all.
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