I was sitting on the porch
reading a mediocre book
about the author’s alcoholic Dad
when Julia whipped out
and kissed my forehead six times.
She didn’t mean much by it –
it was our first morning under the police state,
but our view (save the playground,
still plastered in orange fencing,
though that order had been rescinded
hours ago) looked the same:
the band shell, the fluttering flag, the fat magnolia tree
the tourists throw their faces into –
she always kisses me in big
automatic rifle bursts.
She went straight back in after
and started saying okay, okay to herself
as she solved some problem in her office,
but it was the difference in my day.
I know many things that are simple and true.
The systems of the world don’t work.
People are worth more than they’re given.
Love is a refuge.
There’s so much beyond my control
I’m often tempted to think of life
as pre-determined. In case I happen to be
in charge, I went back in, excited
to watch her tap her forehead with a pen,
and made a point of thinking: Yep. This. Her.
