Remember when we escaped
the holy sea of tents
and your girlfriend that one time?
I still remember the
freedom of the wind
coming through your car windows
while we blasted the radio
and laughed like laughing was oxygen,
and remember the fortunes?
Twenty-four in a row,
and yours opened flour and water
to reveal curses,
and mine promised divinity
in a cookie crust.
And remember when we sort of loved each other,
but never said so
We had only ever joked about
my fork in the road,
and which way I should take.
You said you were waiting at one end,
and I pictured dancing casinos,
wearing red top hats,
and fast cars,
and the cloying singe of
cloves on my tongue.
But I said no.
I’ve had so many more forks, C.,
it’s hard to think about them all,
and how they’ve led me winding here,
to my happiness and dissatisfaction,
which is why I have to walk
with a foot on each side
of the path.