An Explanation of Why Returning is Difficult

Don’t you miss creating 
the sunrises and the eclipses?
I copied them with paint and ink,
swiped carpel-tunnel wrists
in remembrance.
Don’t you miss tattooing 
your own skin? 
The awkward rose tattoo is faded and
I recall old sailors I have seen in
in a retirement home, when I was yet new.

What could you possibly 
be doing right now? 
That galaxy-wide spiral of life
tightens like the spring on a
wind-up toy.
I can only imagine.

Maybe it takes that long 
to bleach away the old 
designs, the symbols that 
no longer pertain,
to erase the transcripts  
of mountains of mistakes.
I threw away the etchings,
acrylics, oils, sculptures and
kept the catalog photographs.
They comfort me.
Soon I will discard the memories.
I’ve learned that emptiness
is my favorite starting point.
Hoarding feels foolish.

Whatever your story, 
I am waiting.  
It unravels moment to moment.
With the patience of blades of grass
the temerity has dissipated.

[LSS/RK, 1/27/21]