For Visiting Denver, Returning Home
Knowledge that visiting your
town would be built around
a legend of cars with at least
one out of four hubcaps missing,
that only would be the level
of sentiment. I won’t be having
more children—I won’t be crying
the grey through the blinds, speaking
shorthand benedictions
and surrenders into the one-way
radio, wailing the only thing
when I fill up the ice tray, wailing
the only thing when I close
the bathroom door, take a shit
and maybe-maybe find a way
to be clean. And this is the year
when my son curls his casual frame,
tucks our kittens into his bamboo
ribs, builds shelter with each
exhale of tenderness, the force
of these bendings so tall. Now
I say goodbye to so many other
endings and then keep walking
through to the ones that do not
end—I say goodbye to my child
at this doorway and yet find him
still on the other side.
| Amie Zimmerman |
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