to a poet a thousand miles away

for Laura Eglin






She's the one who started it all
By calling water by its name
Speaking in that soft sweet voice
Yet with a deadpan stare

Showed up unannounced and nesting
Her warm child under her armpit
I was intrigued and still
Happened to had just split

Since then name of water
And name of expatriate poet
Became familiar, longed for and aired
All poets, sooner or later,
become something of the sort (that is, expats, smoke or lonely bears)

My first guess was a mistake
Feelings grew not within but around
Early stories and skipped classes
Her bright joyful eyes behind her glasses

It's never virtual when she's typing:
Your story is my story
Rather hours ahead in hidden beds
Water sliding and pages seeming wet

Bringin on, miles away from home,
That same fresh air we endure through
The darkest winter and breathe
In January when it's hot here
And it's hotter there

My only hope is she knocks my door
With older children, a big hug,
Her smiling cat and healing wounds
For we both know sooner or later

Poets are meant to meet halfway
Across the page, through the borders, against the odds
Where miles turn stepping stones, the desert blinks
And proper names become oceans


bardo thomas (Jacksonville, FL, 1978)