Leaving Savannah

How will your face change?

It is hard to write
When you are satisfied.

When old questions are closed
My heart exhausted
Your stare downcast.

I am transformed
I am hair piled high with curls
On this head
balancing lightly on a spinning top.

I will long for roasted chicken
And African tea.
A corner along a building
Protected by rainbows ( umbrellas.)

I will hear your footfalls
And turn my head to see
Only the cat

I will go down the aisle
And look for tinfoil.

I will read the paper
And wave to a friend
Through a window.

I will listen to the highway hum
At 3 AM

I will feel the weeds
Give way from the dirt

I will sing with the radio
On the drive through North Carolina

I will pretend
That I am going home.

Zunzi’s
York Street, Savannah
12:37 pm
4 June 2008