Honestly, my three favorites are
Puerto Rico, Nevada, and Texas.
I follow you through your souvenirs,
stuck fast to my refrigerator door—
mementos of places I’ve never been.
You always did that,
traveled without much warning.
I envied your ability
to cut loose from all those undesired ties
and just fly far away to somewhere else.
Merciless adventure that begged to be tasted.
I missed you when you left,
more than most things, but
you’d always come back
with a little something
to decorate my modern-day ice box.
“That’s your thing,” you’d tell me,
handing me the magnetized treasures.
You'd help me pick out a spot
for each of them, and
it made me feel a bit better
for being so god ****** unworldly.
They’re all there, you know,
varying shapes and colors,
with eyesore typography
spelling out awful puns that I love.
Somehow, they fit together
and make a sort of perfect sense
that I can’t explain.
My three favorites are still
Puerto Rico, Nevada, and Texas—
pieces of your completed journey
radiating childlike wonder, fervent hope,
and plenty of open-ended questions.
Completed, with the exception
of a single, naked, white space
that I will wait my lifetime to fill,
because, like you said,
that’s my “thing,"
and I'll keep it as such,
I'll keep you as such,
until my sand runs out too.
© Bitsy Sanders, August 2016
For Kibwe