If I still lived in town, where would we be?
Would we be in the garden while the children
wash the tomatoes
in the kitchen?
My hair still shaggy like you liked it.
Monet told us that the light is
constantly changing
and there are days I can see the time
shift in the sun.
I’d still be a drunk if I were still in town.
I’d be on the stool. You’d have asked me if I was
happy. Would I have realized I wasn’t?
What made the light change?
There are too many questions
if I still lived in town.
There are too many cracks if
I still lived in town. Someone would make a mistake.
The light shines on you now. It changes.
Do we still know each other? It changes.
In another reality we never did. It changes.
We’ll meet again. It changes.
David Strange is an Indianapolis-based teacher and poet. He is the host of the monthly reading series Listen, Please every second Thursday at the Chatterbox and co-editor of the poetry/art journal Door’s Always Open. He is a Pushcart Prize nominee in poetry and when he’s not teaching or writing, you can find him watching movies, walking his dog Hilda, or thinking about the Indiana Pacers. You can find his work in the Driftwood Press, Anchorage Press, Dogwood Alchemy, IndyUntitled’s Insert Title Here, and forthcoming issue of The Headlight Review, among others. Follow him on Instagram @dcstrange.