- Vol. 10
- Chapter 10
Image by Marie-Michèle Bouchard
I Would Not Regret My Past
In the dreams were you and
the docks and
the cars
that went over.
The ocean on fire.
Summer
coming
and coming
and coming
and coming.
Before we broke up.
I sliced peaches and planned meals.
Scrambling eggs.
Rising with the sun in the desert.
I wanted a child.
Standing in the dirt in my barefeet.
And God was there.
Smoking a cigarette.
Pointing beyond the mountains.
You came back stoned.
Carrying a pizza.
In my homeland.
Your mouth on my mouth. For many months
I thought was religion.
I Would Not Regret My Past
Dreaming of Vishnu and George
in his pink shirt.
I never wanted to feel desire again.
Passing a totem of metal. And rubber and rust.
With my husband I never wrote a word.
It was hard but not impossible
the word was not needed.
We were not burning.