BOS to LAX to MEL
by Maranda Greenwood
An ocean and a decade rest between us, that’s 11,000 miles
and a generation. Everybody has something to say about it.
I lay next to her in bed, her sleep-tongue licks her lips
every few minutes and her eyebrows move as though
they have tasted something delicious,
like vanilla or bourbon.
Tonight she sleeps with her mouth half open.
The globe on the nightstand backdrops the shine on her lips
making it look like she’s drinking the pacific,
closing the distance that will separate us.
I am learning to love her in kilograms, centimeters,
millimeters, Celsius, wrong-sided and accented.
She reaches for me, thumb stroking the inside of my wrist
as though the raised tattoo ink is real feathers.
I run my hand over her identical raised ink lines,
and the smooth white scars that rest beneath them.
She’s dreaming and unaware that I am learning her
in tiny details, at once familiar and foreign.
I repeat them now, and every night
to lull myself to sleep—
drink the pacific.
Maranda Greenwood is a Vermont poet, she holds an MFA in Poetry from Arcadia University. Her work can be found in Sundog Lit, Crab Fat Magazine, White Stag and other journals. In her free time, she collects Zoltar tickets.