So Much for Osmosis
When I
ask myself what am I
doing here,
I can’t remember.
When she
asks what am I thinking,
her voice
interrupts my chain
of
thought. Too many thoughts,
too many
choices to trace through
ghostly
demarcations at Key West
if only I’d
gone there.
She could
have asked why didn’t I
take the
scenic route to Missoula
through Phillipsburg
with red
hair, but I had decided
it was safest
to stay on the bus
once we
left Humphrey , Idaho
where
Aaron Copeland never
went to
school.
At Dubois
the driver woke us
for breakfast
at 5 a. m. He said
there were
no other good
restaurants
within a hundred miles.
It was
obvious he was sweet
on the
waitress. We stayed too
long. The restrooms ran out
of paper,
and our tips were small.
I thought
then I could become
a poet. I thought by some
osmotic
process and a degree
I would
know what to say.
But it’s
been thirty years. Osmosis
has been
reversed. The words
I hoped would
of themselves
take fire
have all slipped away.
—Donnell
Hunter
3
March 2012
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