Call it depression. Call it fear.
At the last minute I almost walked
Off the boarding line, but the image
Of my suitcase alone in the cargo hold
Was enough to keep me in place.So now I’m here, in a town called Estoril,
Sitting on a bench eating bleu cheese and salami
And a handful of almonds.
There’s a fountain nearby spouting
Sprays of water and pathways through
The greenest lawn you’ll ever see
And palm trees to add to the picture,
And beyond all that
A giant casino waiting to cash me out.I’ve been feeling sort of low. It’s one thing
If people back home are missing you.
It’s another if no one cares. With thoughts like that,
I began to meditate, my mind turning
To when Beloved and I were in the marriage way.
That night I drove back from the movie theater
With my daughter Katie and her friend Patrice,
And how, between the parked car and the house
I took it upon myself to hide.
But eight-year-old Patrice wasn’t having it.
“We don’t care where you are,”
She flat out said, her words zipping like arrows in the dark.The thing about a meditation is that you might begin
In the pit of shame and intense regret, but if you hang in
Long enough it will pull you onto the path of love.
A man has a right to make a lie give way to truth
And then tell you what it is that he has done
To achieve this result. He has that right.October 2002