Proposal in a RV

It’s not as if we were really in love when you
proposed marriage. We were both high on weed
you provided and I was so impressed
that you worked as a narc.

Those were the days, the years my knowledge
about the Hollywood where I lived was self-centered.
Pretending I knew myself, I understood after sobriety
altered my life how little was actually clear.

Fountain Avenue had no upscale condos like it does today
only a row of houses where groups of people
lived, smoked dope, drank, and shopped at the Hollywood
Ranch Market across the street
During those years, I crawled into six-packs of
Olde 800 English Malt Liquor, margaritas, and smoked fat joints

We lost touch with each other.
Years later I still think of you
what you might be like today
what our lives might have been if we’d actually married
what I’d be like if I’d given birth to your children
whether we’d still be smoking weed.

You’ve never been to New Jersey, as far as I knew,
and when I went back there, you were in my past for
quite a long time. I could have stopped anywhere along the way
in places like Albuquerque, Texarkana, Memphis
with the possibility of finding someone like you.

Still, in over thirty-one years and what feels like
a lifetime later, I still see your face,
hear your voice, and remember the times we
shared. Even what I had in common in Ohio wasn’t as meaningful
as the way you held me. Even now, I can’t understand
why I might have made that decision not to
be your wife. Somehow I know weed clouds
not only memories, but decisions that might
have made a difference.

04/28/2011

Author's Note: Finally! Thank you Gabriel Ricard. I love reading your poetry. You write the coolest poems!

Posted on 04/29/2011
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