to be a new jersey poet

in the haze of my afternoon, my husband stumbles in to tell me new jersey is back in play. we'd move down by princeton.

this is a wonderful thing for one who wants to be a new jersey poet.
this is a wonderful thing for one who does not want to go back to texas (ever)
this is a wonderful thing, i must remind myself of this.

but just now, as the phone rings me from my final exhausted slumber, and some bigwig from the new jersey company is on the line, i cannot think of that.

my mind begins to swirl with dates upcoming, with friends (or friend) we'll leave--though i have just found two other belly dancing homeschooling moms, and that is like lightning striking.

the comfortable grooves my shoes have worn in this pavement were only temporary, i knew this.

i knew this and i knew it would come time when we'd move again.

i want to be a new jersey poet. the only way to do that is to live there or be born there, since i cannot have the latter, the former it must be.

and it is not so far, i cannot participate in the rich full happenings here locally. the crowd of phenoms i've come to know, whether by face or name.

rather it opens my doors to a whole new set of poets, throws open the windows of my life to air out the musty lived in winter, but i won't see some of these poets again. i won't come back to this place, see these swans, feed these geese.

and for a time, they are all i can think about.