Meet Me In Wyoming

In this dream

we met at the AmericInn.

Still half-asleep

I sit up

say it out loud—

Americ Inn—

my tongue hung up

on the missing ‘a’

like the bird

caught in my throat

that wants

to fly to you.

We used to meet

in places between

my Colorado, your Montana

always by the mountains

always wanting.

In the dark

I can still feel the hair and flesh

of your forearms

around my waist from behind

as we stare out the window

at this has-been of a town

with its tacky strip bars and cowboy billboards

silhouettes of oil wells now still

against the setting sun.

While my husband sleeps

beside me

faint murmurs from his mouth

draw me home

and I slide back down

to nestle beside him.

But as I watch the rise and fall

of his chest

I think of you

and know that

if we met today

I would hold your two hands

in mine

pull them across the restaurant table

to my chin

my lips

rest my forehead against your knuckles

and linger.

Elisabeth Harrahy

Elisabeth Harrahy’s work has appeared in Zone 3, Paterson Literary Review, Blue Heron Review, The Café Review, Passengers Journal, Ghost City Review, I-70 Review, Wisconsin People & Ideas, and elsewhere, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. She is an associate professor of biology at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater.

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