Caught up and then the wanting
to be caught up in the thing
I can't quite put my finger on.
First, there is Paraguay, your
rough straw hat. A mite
dug into your old pillow.
I keep telling myself I don't
have any of those here, but
maybe the fact that we both
have dust mites somehow
brings us closer. Oh,
and the first caught up
was on work. The sink
is clean. Today's paper is
already in the trash. Second,
there is Good News, your
hold of char. The high
slung bag of food from
a tree limb. There are no
bears here, but just the same,
I don't leave food out,
especially because of roaches,
which are little bears,
anyway. Third is fighting,
your glove without fingers.
And there, I've put my
finger on it, the dull ache
to be caught up in fight,
wanting to be those missing
bits of fabric
holding your hands.
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