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I sat in Rocco’s pizza trying to feel nostalgic
but really
what’s great about Portland
can’t be had in a visit
maybe I know this; it’s something I’ve learned
maybe I just feel like this right now
perhaps it’s true of everywhere:
you only get the heart of a place ( thing?) if you commit to it
you have to BE there
why am I so far away?
I left my heart in new York city
and the pizza here is crap
but out the window I see the ideal of my Portland man
middle aged
full beard
dark hair
nice plaid shirt
black slacks…
he keeps pulling up
he looks really strong
and a bit soft
he walks into Powell’s
and I imagine meeting him in the stacks…
ten years ago
when it would have been possible to take him up the block the the bath
house
in a moment of inspiration
or desperation
… that’s what I’m feeling now
just like those days when I first came here
the endless grey and constant rain
walking around these streets
not wanting to go anywhere
but knowing I had to find somewhere
can’t walk around forever
or the oil-skin will be soaked through and pull me down
but I don’t want to talk with Jerry
I know I never loved him
just wanted someone do simple and beautiful to love me
and similarly
I’m mourning the loss of Trevis and Sheridan
now that I’ve spent time with both of them again
I know that what we had is really gone
irretrievably Lost
that amazing relationship of tinkering with the makings ov eachother
we don’t have that trust anymore
we’re all much more alone
it seems only Sheridan is blundering forth hopefully into new loves…
I decide to walk into powell’s anyway
I don’t want to buy anymore books
and I’m not hungry for a cookie
but maybe I’ll feel at home there?
and as I wait at the corner
my Ideal Portland Man walks out
we cross the street at the same time and nod at eachother;
he’s gorgeous
a curled mustache, and stylish simple metal framed glasses
I reach the curb and turn back to look
but he’s crossing the next corner…
and walks down past Rocco’s
I watch after him
and cross down
pounding the pavement to head him off at the next block…
where’d he go?
I walk up the street looking in the shops for him
and there he is in Counter Media
an erotic ( and odd ) art book store
I imagine what I might like to buy
but then notice the Closed sign is up…
he’s talking to the shop person
they head to the door and I mock playing with my phone while they get
in their car
then put it down and stare at them openly
a wish as old as myself
I want them to take me with them…
as they drive off
I follow them up to the corner
cross
come into Powell’s cafe and get a Ginger brew and some cookies for later
decide to write
because I can’t imagine a friend I could tell this to who I’d feel
would understand me
I try and take a picture of myself
but it does it again
it must be broken
but it’s what I’ve got
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