Everyone Comes Back in Reflection by Amanda Deutch

Everyone Comes Back

You open your letter
with, “I’ve just
put the chickens

to bed.
The house is
quiet except

for Leonard
Cohen and
the clacking

of keys. Dylan
and Allison are
getting married.”

In the case
of mirrors,
small

measure
means nothing,
but

to take that
train for two
days

provides
everything we
need

except maybe
a fingertip
from

someone else’s
hand
touching

our boundaries.
That is
all

that’s missing
from a cross country
train

ride.
About the
coming year, Paul

is it possible
to make
substitutions--

a week
full of
music

or a day still
with energy
and romance

I suspect
I am always
a suspect.

What else
have you
got,

Paul?
right now
I think

and it makes
me
very tired.

When I was
two people,
another me

I knew
how to spend hours
listening

to this
American music.
I even

had fun.
I’ll tell you
about it

sometime.
Now, I just want
to make seasonal pies

and stop
spending energy
on subjects.

Everyone
comes
back

to cooking things
cleaning things
lifting

things or
drinking
something.

I would go
back too. In
fact,

why don’t
you call
me

I’d love
to hear
your voice.

—Sept 12, 2008
After a letter from Paul