Another Poem Left Behind

The bar in the Hotel Van Zandt in Austin, Texas is in Geraldine’s Restaurant and Writers Lounge. How appropriate, then, that my server delivered the bill for the two rye whiskeys I drank tucked into a hardbound copy of John Bunyon’s Pilgrims Progress. Flipping through the pages, I noticed people had added notes to the blank pages at the front and back of the book and on the insides of the front and back covers. I had been editing poems while there, so why not add a poem to the book? Here’s what I left behind:


Is it desire to swim again
in uterine seas?
Or, vestigial memories
of when we were fish?
We sit on the beach,
facing toward the waves
and dream.

As much as we seek its warmth,
the sun is not our friend.
Only the waters embrace and soothe.

Amongst the waves
I hear mothers cry.


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