When I ask you
the time
in a public place,
you pull a clock
from your pocket
and place it on the
table begrudgingly.
Reluctant,
I’m sure, for me
to have a glimpse
of all that you
are lugging around.
Half your wardrobe
in the back seat
of your car,
a small library
in the bag
you carry.
You never like
to let go
of anything.
You don’t even want
to leave it home
alone, untended.
You walk around
weighed down
by things.
Sometimes I worry –
sometimes I want
to teach you lightness,
flight,
soaring.
But what do I
know,
three magazines
under my arm
to read,
we schlog along.
Together.

5/11/02