A Life of Wonder

Take me somewhere, anywhere, not here.
Take me to the river where we walked as children,
or your dad’s deli, where I waited for you to finish your shift: hair up, apron stained with mustard.
Take me to the bookstore, where you stole for me for the first time,
or to the back of that spacious Cadillac, where I learned you.

Take me somewhere, anywhere, not here.
Not to the summer of silence we agree never to discuss.
Not to the year where I was the awkward kid, the bullied kid, the cowardly kid afraid of his own body, or to the years where I thought I was so much more than I am.

Not to where I lost you, after the days by your side praying in all the language and traditions I know, for a few more days with you.
Don’t take me there.

Take me to you, impossible as that is.
Not to the promise of you, or objects you once touched where your fragrance lingers in the air like a scented ghost.
Take me somewhere, anywhere, not here, anywhere will do, as long as it’s near you.
Take me.