Erin Bidlake - note to her lover

six years and twice
as many closets, I
have shied away from
hangers, kept socks
in safeway bags, underwear
stuffed into shoes. my life

never unpacked. Instead I
lived from suitcases on the floor
their buckles strained to hold
my illusion of impermanence, they
believed what I did,
                            that when chance
comes down the road with her killer
smile and smoking body
you don't say no,
          that lovers are the bruises
they leave and the first one
with her boots on (doesn't win but)
loses less. don't laugh! I believe this,

hung bus tickets around my neck
like talismans, made saints out of
bartenders. I paced a ledge
of circumstance until the wind
changed. My neck so stiff from nights
in transit it became painful to look
back.
          then you,

          found me at a bar on the coast,
          wrapped a coat around my shoulders,
          brought me here.
six years and twice as many closets, yours
the first in which to hang my hat.