getting back

needing a reason to sing
she seeks open minds and
green places where
voices are optical
through tall grasses,
cut by a sinking sun
red on the backstory
then pink between webbed fingers,
a clicking metronome
counting days in july down to
august (turned 26 / now she’s on doubletime)
she speaks poetry loudly into
empty wine bottles
and on the return claims one dollar
thinking the canada council
is really paying out big this year
mainly, though, its about
finding a restaurant close to the office
where they serve cheap sangria in pitchers
and the locals are lesbian enough to
make her envious of short hair
and cramped living quarters –
everything north of Vancouver
becomes a pulp-scented winter cloud
and (against her better judgment)
she falls in love with soft water,
a good lather, and an orange cat
shedding his coat, permanently.