a hand pulls
the red curtain back
again, and i notice
the discolored fabric
around the area that
every hand seems
to touch.
my stomach butterflies.
this still isn’t easy.

this one will kiss my neck
he will kiss it slow
at first anyways
because he is pensive.
i can tell by his watch.
some ask my name
some have daughters my age
he will think i love him.
he will touch me kindly
like a daughter.  strange.
he will make love to me softly
at first anyways
all the foreigners do.
they pay to believe they are loved.
i pay because they are not.

all these men
all these hands
all these fingernails
all these moments

does god even know
i am here?

it was on the riverwalk
when you tried to tell me
you were sorry
with a new haircut and
your hat in your hand

let’s take a picture
you said
with one hand fishing
in your jacket pocket
and the other reaching for me
the way you reached for me
after practice for so many years

then you pulled out
a cheap disposable
and ran your thumb across it’s back
and waved me near
and as we stood with
your arm around my shoulder
that waitress
darlin’ did you say her name was?
captured your face
as content as can be
with me your son who is only now half a man

but it’s the face
that i never saw
in the picture
that i never let you send me
because i left.
and now, as i still walk away
down that river
i realize these things never end
they only pour into an ocean
that is bitter