Monday, April 28, 2003

Yeah, it is.

Is it wrong that I miss
the grocery shopping
now that I know there's only
one other person in the world
that will let me push the cart
and he'll never want in my pants
even if I'm the last woman alive
The operative word being "woman."

And when I roll over and
accidentally whack my wrist
on whatever hard object moves itself
to be beside my bed in the middle
of the night, and I know that if
your body were there to block
the punch I wouldn't ever be
as sore in the morning

And when I ride in cars
that I know can actually
get me places, I shouldn't miss
the anxiety of wondering if we'd
ever get where we were going
even after asking if we had
an extra quart of oil became
just as natural as asking
if we'd locked the door behind us.

I really don't miss the ugly parts
but the parts that were only ugly
from the far away outside
are the parts I miss the most.
The parts that on the inside
meant the difference between
a goodnight kiss and an empty bed
a sounding board and this journal
a cushion and my hardwood floors.