for Elaine Feeney
In the Airport terminal’s time warp the sun-on-glass glare
and the lack of appropriate places to sleep
have left me bug eyed and pacing static-filled corridors
that send sparks through my fingers and hair
when I touch things (or if I touched things) and I’m thinking
of how we came to be each others’ others and how it is
that people like us come to mean things to each other.
Without knowing it does so, the heat from the sun’s kiss on
the plate glass window licks at my neck, like it we are helpless
our warmth spreads without any permission, we’ve no borders
no boundaries and we’ve been friends since we met
so I can say Lazarus get up and talk to me, because I want
to tell you how I’d resolved to be only one person
all of the time until a woman came to my ninth floor hotel room
and stood at the window looking down at some city below her,
I (or the me I was using) stayed at a distance with my back
to the wall and across those great acres of room space of bed space
and sheet span I watched the light burnish her edges
her ribcage, her jaw and the fine hairs on her arm
and as the evening grew gentler I watched the rise and fall
of her breath while the day itself melted and Lazarus
I wanted to go to her but this me that I’ve chosen to be
all of the time now didn’t know where or how to begin:
I (or the me I was using) didn’t believe that my static filled fingers
could touch her and she might welcome it and I wanted to tell you
that I mightn't be able to stay being me in situations like this
where I have all the ingredients gathered and measured
and then I forget how to cook them (if that was in fact
me there in the bedroom and not one of my minions)
and I'm saying this because I've learned that staying one person
isn't straightforward and sometimes being truthful is less accurate
than having the courage to act a part beautifully
and Lazarus I want to tell you whenever you get up
that I might not be able and I know you'll know what I mean
because we are each others others and we know things –
Lazarus, it’s high time you were up.
Copyright © Sarah Clancy 2014
