Portland
When I fell from marriage, home,
bland feats of life-as-I’d-known-it,
coupled-into some twenty-plus years ago,
suddenly everything was a question again.
What is? What isn’t?
All my assumptions broke into pieces:
sharp; slithery; and none-too-shiny.
Portland spoke through my ticklish in-step.
She pressed into the soles of my feet with
rose-and-tumble acceptance,
as I skirted puddles known and unknown.
Restless possiblity swayed along my sides
while Portland steadied my stride—“It’s ok.”
Who knew that asphalt could be a tender touch,
that this patient, old-friend town of mine
would roll out padding and take me easy,
while the stuffing in my head blew ‘round
many cups of coffee: many thanks, Portland.