Becca, of The Three Muses, will be reading at the Joma Cafe on Saturday night.
I wish I had stayed in St. Paul,
holding on, one night longer, to that stolen kiss
with my crystal flute playing friend.
But then, I would have missed my only night in New Orleans:
arriving late to a B&B,
hanging on the porch dripping of sweat and the blues.
Ahh, there was no resisting
that first barista-made coffee
and the art laden sidewalks of Portland.
Then, there was Dallas.
I never got his name, but that two-steppin cowboy
floated me across the Red River dance floor
making me forget all about my broken heart…
for three minutes, maybe four.
And El Paso, make me smile.
staring across the Rio Grande for a while,
so close to romance with the conductor of a train…
but no, I had to hop a bus to Tucson,
weave my rented Chevy through Sedona,
to stand glorious and triumphant
on the edge of the Grand Canyon.
All this, after my night spent on the wooden bench
of a depot in San Antonio,
listening to the thunder roll from the storm that left me,
delayed and betrayed.
BUT, I was in Texas, so I almost stayed…
And never, never will I forget that ride along the rails
of the Pacific coast. Landing in Sacramento,
with only my camera and clothes,
standing at the Hard Rock Cafe,
staring at the giant spinning guitar,
(that sidewalk singer,
I swore he called out my name).
Until this day,
I wonder if I should’ve stayed
Just stopped right there, started life anew.
This I wonder often…
Yet it is “no” that I conclude,
for none of these places, these cities, these towns would ever do.
Because none of them,
held the sweet promise of meeting you.
©2014 Becca #43