unready

There were politics on tv

in my head, an old western movie

running my favorite scene

repeat-repeat.

in the foreground: my cousin asked me

Do you really think you’re ready to be married?

…

Sao Paulo,

Curtains gently moved with the wind

 standing in the doorway to our balcony

10:00 am sun beating.

her aspen hair

wild with the morning, evening still set in her eyes

she takes a sip from the Arabica roast

and treasures the city view as she always does

children, Football in the streets

then as I yawn, flips her head back to meet me

whispers those few words in her natural speech

(“Ah, meu amor.”)

I’m driven to wonderful insanity

…

somewhere in Galway,

Maybe a cottage outside the city

she’d have something like coastline eyes

(the Bays’ waves crashing in against the Cliffside)

Shades of brown, a whirlwind in the storm-

amongst the blades of green

and paths still new to me

I’d walk with her,

sometimes talk, mostly listen

to the words she’d sing

about the books she’d read

and all her overthetop philosophy

some sorts of Transcendentalism far beyond me.

our life,

our own sort of discontented peacefully.

…

retrieving life back into reality

I forced a simple smile

no, I suppose I am unready  to be married…

I’m still far too engaged in my own many hopeless stories.