He is Trying to Get Home From the Store,

but lake winds pick him up
& blow him into the clouds. I
married a dreamer. I wait. He
stops to listen to the early
lilac orchestra. He starts to
change into blowy horizontal lake
rain, then migrating red admirals.
I thinksay remember. I remember us.
We chose the imaginal
north/south somewhere
between Bartlett Avenue and Jupiter,
between Lake Michigan and
the Aegean. Remember we drink
Serbian Cosmos together, we eat
squash blossoms and red snapper soup.
We visit the Calatrava before bed. We
nurture a magnetic field of words. I am
remembering you back. Remembering
plays time. Thinking is all remembering.
I remember our young
bodies. I'm not finished
with us. Remember that.
If someone asks, "why is that lady
out walking in that lake storm?" Tell them
"months ago her husband went to the
store in a blizzard & never came back."
Tell them: "She can't stop looking for him.”

Susan Firer, "He is Trying to Get Home From the Store," from The Transit of Venus.  Copyright © 2016 by Susan Firer.  Reprinted by permission of The Backwaters Press.
Source: The Transit of Venus (The Backwaters Press, 2016)
More Poems by Susan Firer