When she talks about the past

it’s in Australia

with spiders in front lawns

and snakes shot with rifles by little girls

with braids.

It’s in theology school

and wanting to be a preacher’s wife

named Sandra Jeanette Mary Pilt.

It’s in running the old ropes course

and the ladder falling down.

 

When she talks about the future

it’s in marrying Kathleen

and going back to teaching

and growing old

and never being away from camp for too long.

 

When she talks about love

it’s in tangible things

like cups of coffee

and a piano

and deleting Facebook

to walk on Newbury Beach

with Kathleen  

as the sun sets.

 

When she talks about home,

it’s not in her parent’s house

it’s not even in her parent’s continent

which she doesn’t consider herself from anymore.

It’s in an orange house in Newburyport, Massachusetts

It’s in a well-stamped passport.

It’s in a hidden cabin

in a green corner of the world

behind the lodge

with a shared blue apron

embroidered with the words “Flippin’ with LOVE”

hanging on a rack.

It’s in this frantically fleeting

long car ride

through the desert

listening to music off of her 1st generation iPod

with five girls

hanging on to her every word.

 

I used to think she didn’t talk much.