reasons to stay
pluots.
pacific standard time.
because there are three months left on my bus pass; and i have been known to sit stolid in my house if i cannot find quarters for the bus.
crocuses and tulips, but mostly daisies. the way the daises around here all know that i’ve been looking for them all summer. the way the daisies have been talking, passing notes, giggling about the lovers they’ve had their petals pulled off for. the way i found that last clump waiting for me like teenagers, waiting for a ride home outside the movies. the way the barista pulls my shots, pours my rosette and says ‘nice flower’.
july. babeland. the croissant breakfast sandwich at the starlife on the oasis cafe and how i fell in love with a girl in a city over a sandwich on a saturday when we were sitting on their green couch and i was wiping greasy eggs off of my chin between bites.
the view of puget sound from the viaduct:
water– looking at herself in the mirrored sheets of high rise glass just beyond the shipyard, practicing her marilyn monroe face in their windows, tickling the corners of the office buildings, begging the men inside, pulling them by their neckties, to come out and watch her sunset. and me, moving submerged through her reflection, in my car like its a submarine holding my breath until to we get to the tunnel, because water is falling all over herself to come and tap upon my windows and whisper into my ear ’stay a little longer’.
fear.
the act of waking up in a room full of open windows without a sunrise and no longer feeling its absence upon my breakfast tea. this is the place where i learned i liked breakfast tea.
a climbing return on investment. time. olives. ease.
because i have departure-induced asthma. every time i think about leaving, i wheeze.
reasons to go
Autumn. the way my mother says ‘i love you’ during our phone calls. because the leaves back home need me to come and watch. they’re starting their show without me and i don’t want them to grow up and go to therapy and talk about how i was never there.
because ‘i love you’ is starting to sound like ‘you’re never there’.
italian food. bagels.
himalayan blackberry. because I already promised my backpack that i would, and the novels on my bookshelf are starting to make fun of my guidebooks who worry they’ll never be good enough to open.
the way people move here because they think they can escape things that are difficult, like their families. or racism.
inertia. ennui.
the temperature of the water– what good is an ocean you can’t swim in, no matter how hot she is for you, you can never submerge yourself between her kelpy, undulating legs; when she shows her sandbars i need to be able to stray from her shores.
