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
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