Sometimes, I wish we could go away.
Not far, and down an oft-traveled road, but away.
The water under our deck chairs would absorb our words, whetting our appetites for more.
Sometimes I wish you had more ambition.
Sometimes I wish I had more ambition.
I always wish there was more living in making a living.
Your voice blows against me as we follow the same path in different directions.
But sometimes I watch you talk, and as the words fill the air between us I reacquaint myself with your nose, sitting just a little to the left, and your eyes, the softest shade of jade, and your mouth, which even when you speak turns up slightly on one side as though amused.
I’m in the garden, and out of the corner of my eye I see you hanging my clothes on the clothesline you wish you’d never strung between two trees you wish you had cut down, long ago.
And, I stop what I am doing, and come to you.
© Copyright 2007-2009 Stacye Carroll All Rights Reserved
Are We There Yet? 