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.
Portage Magazine 