The Innisfree Poetry Journal

by Judith S. Offer



I am Skyped into your day,

Me talking in yesterday, you talking in tomorrow;

Or Yahoo'd, the words shifting and drifting

On the prevailing winds of the Pacific Rim, then

Dropping electronically from email ether

Onto pages of flickering pixels.


I tell you your car had its smog checked, and

I went with the Nellises to the Kings' New Year.

You tell me about the Plum Blossom Festival

At Yushima Shrine, with its long lines.  I tell you

I read poetry at the Library of Congress,

And the other poet's husband made a video.


Millions of people have done this, you stipulate,

Citing wars, tsunamis, epidemics,

Spouses Rising to the Occasion,

Winding bandages, plumbing kitchen sinks.

We talk as much as we do at home, you say,

Avoiding any mention of pillow talk.


You remind me:  only two more months.

You say you are paid in spades for the

Fifteen hours of distance between Oakland and Tokyo.

You give me the impression of someone

Avoiding negotiation, but don't mention

What deal we're discussing.


You put forward your final offer:

Our love is not threatened by this.

We have two-score anniversaries to prove it!

But my stomach wonders:  is this a rehearsal?

Am I practicing turning over in the bed

Alone?  Or are you?

Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication