When you were 22

You met in a kinkos
He trembled.
You had the wool skirt and the boots on
that made you feel worldly

He was copying maps
For somewhere, far away, he could afford to go.
He had his own business, he said,
But his eyes were all yours.

You accepted his email (comcast.net)
As an acceptable format
Because who could learn anything
With an email?

And when you were 22, to escape
the tyranny of love, what it was that made
The boots and the wool skirt necessary,
was what made it possible.

The opposite is imagining in some loft,
designed by him, a fantasy turret
in San Francisco, a corner of soft pillows, all white,
you resisted abandon.

You resisted his hands,
and the wax you nervously played with at the bar--
You resisted his old, special car
And the cat-corner with pillows, a tiny spot to sink into


You resisted. To demonstrate your freedom
And to demonstrate your bondage.
The maps were enough to know
not to go.