AFTER THE WEDDING, MEXICO-BOUND
Hung over &
headed for Mexico
in a rented car,
we try and outrun the rain
& the bleary weight of ourselves,
alone, and with each other,
after the wedding.
Today, at the age of 33,
I’m as old as Christ, before he died.
John weaves turquoise stones,
flecks of a jealous sky, around my neck
and says, “In 50 years I’ll be an old man,
will you still want me then?”
I say: “I have trouble
separating myself from childhood,
and the child within asks,
”Where do the wild birds
go when it begins to rain?”
I hide the blue stigmatas
burning on my palms.
11/24/85
slightly rev. 2/17
San Clemente
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