Somewhere in Wyoming

By Taylor Sicko

The day we broke up Bob Saget died.

Our future, empty

as the house that was full.

Filling, filling, until I tipped over

and tipped us over.

Human dominos, the same but different.

Four wobbling legs

with no napkin wedge to solve our problems.

Earth bound and grounded

transformed into something thin

and indecisively floating wherever the wind blows.

Andrea Gibson speaks on the turbulence of long distance

but my flight with you was peace.

I found my home in the sky

or in knowing you were in the sky.

Bringing us back to a time when the distance between us

was only a mozzarella cheese stick

shared and stretched between our lips.

Lapping up the crumbs of hopeful eternity.

My whole life I had wanted a home.

Candles lit on cleaning Sundays

sweeping the garage floor to make room for more dust

and more tires.

But I was tired.

Stretching the Twister mat we bought one night in December

from New York to Colorado

until I could no longer reach your left hand, blue.

My right hand

newly planted on green

ready, set, but unwilling to let you go.

Seventy marathons

I’d run them in a row.

To everyone's surprise, but mostly to yours.

Uproot the mat I nailed down to the corners of the states that bound us

and stretch my too short bones until they leave my body.

Bones are made of connective tissue, you know?

But I'm still two time zones away.

I’ve only just started to finish books,

and just started to see things through.

And I’m missing you like crazy.

At night, the wind blows harder than any summer.

They say most storms move from west to east,

But I swear

the trees smell of your perfume.

Bringing me back to somewhere in Wyoming.

Filling our popcorn bowls and pints of beer

flipping cards until our hands touch and someone wins.