There are so many selves these days,
living in many places at once.
When we travel, we leave a self back
at home, to remind us what we
would be doing if we wouldn't have left.
The traveling self receives
the thoughts of the one at home, as if
over a baby monitor,
feels unstuck from time. Yesterday,
I answered the phone
and spoke to Kathy. Sorry, who is
this, I asked, and she
said, Kathy, your across-the-hall
neighbor in number 4.
Not neighbor, actually, not for a year,
and a couple thousand miles
away, several states. It’s easy to
forget where here is,
when now is. In my Twitter feed,
hundreds of people
who live in places I have left, telling
me about the clouds
and mild temperatures, and out the
window here, clouds,
no snow. The town you return to is
only partially the place
itself. Your memory sketches over
it, like architectural plans
in reverse. It is still what it used to
be to you, every version.