Ashlandsblog

I have never seen him shy.
When I was young, he would swift away The curtains deftly, without a word — Urging.


Just before we would leave the hotel,
He would pat down my coat,
Summon a tissue to wipe an invisible stain.
Always preoccupied, him and me.
We spoke different languages,
And I could barely stand to look him in the eyes,
Though he demanded.
I learned to draw out the details in the silence we shared.


I’m at the Blue Hotel in San Francisco, Gently drawing the curtains open—
Though it makes no difference; the room is grey.
I’m hoping she takes the hint that the sun
Hides behind its own curtains on this side of the world.
Elevator music escapes the revolving doors,
Rain-slicked roads are wearing the night lights.
My sister and I are ready to head out, And I’m fighting the urge to wipe
The stain off her coat.