Transitions by Eileen Myles

Transitions

sometimes

I’m driving

and I pressed

the button

to see who

called &

suddenly I’m

taking pictures.

Big dark

ones. He says

it’s not about

where you sit

to make a

film

but I wasn’t

taking a

picture

I was driving

it’s black &

there’s all

these lights

I’m strong

it’s night

& I’ve

driven very

far

I keep hearing

the music

of the weekend

he says

it’s not about

whether she & I

resume

it’s how it goes

on

with me.

In my car

so long ago

I loved someone

who read me a poem

on the phone

about the car

of the day

you mean the

one I’m driving

and the fact that

she left it

on the phone

and that was new

she said I was overreacting

and that was too much

and we sent our messages

in light

and ack she hated

trees

I thought she’s so

young cause

I like nature

now and her trunk

wrapped around

me one day

he licks my

arm my boy

& driving home I thought

if he dies

I will see his paw

in the sky

I am seeing it now

and she’s always

home

going hwuh

and she said

I love our little

meeting I said

little

don’t denigrate

my need to support

my need to say

that you can

I’m glad I’m

Home   it’s wide

out there

we spoke about scaf-

folding

him fitting the

frame to the

eye

she’s grown

I wanted to say

we laughed about

tang

and later on the

toilet

thought

about tango

and joan

L Tango Larkin

what’s not technology

what’s not seeing

an arm to say

I hold the

line    I hold

the day

I watch the snowflake

melting