TRANSIT VISA: Enough

ENOUGH 
Potter’s Line Market, April, 6, 2010

Tilly the Lab revels in the sun among cast off garden statuary, an elephant God sitting in meditation, and two Buddhas that flank the office entry way. She doesn’t stir, even for the mailman. The world still turns, moving the seasons in our favor. The birds are furiously chirping. The necessary writing dog lies at my feet.

I write these days in order to exonerate myself – here’s the proof that I have something of value to exchange for my deadbeat ways. Back in my country fires are smoldering. Student loan companies ring my Iphone in the dead of the English night. All of my years of accretions lie in a metal storage container, with only a tiny red lock keeping them from dispersal.

This is the only choice I’ve got. I must follow this emphatic man, this lover of life, this creator of possibility, this sum of my wishes.

We are here where Bernard finds his fallen cell phone blinking at the edge of the compound in the middle of the night, retrieves a torn guardian angel for him in the trash, and a tiny stuffed bunny for Jasmine on Easter.

If Polanski can be forgiven his unruly passions, can’t I? I must produce some kind of redemption.

And yet, in the mornings we lie as perfect as puzzle pieces in our dark ship. His hand slips over the curve in my waist, my head folds under his collar bone. Sometimes this is enough.