Cinder Inc.

When I was about to leave San Diego the last time I found this note on my windshield…

“I was on a Wednesday walk with Smokey the Dog

you swept the steps without any shoes on and I

passed by silently

there was something in me that

wanted to say hi

i could see your eyes

i’m not sure why

it’s not like i’m a big fan of small talk or

human beings

maybe it’s the nice day

maybe i’m still buzzed and stupid from last night

or maybe, despite my ridiculous looking headphones and all that reasons the people stay silent, i should’ve said hi

i’m sure it would have been a simple exchange and not half as weird as receiving a poem on your windshield

i really hope this doesn’t freak you out or anything..

i’m just going to have to wait until next time

maybe you’ll be on the porch without any shoes on and

maybe i won’t be wearing my ridiculous looking headphones

i’ll say hi and you’ll look up

showing me the color of your eyes

simple, easy

’cause let’s face it, people shouldn’t just go around and leave poems on the windshields of strangers

it’s just kind of nutty

nobody does that stuff anymore

friendliness with a pinch of what?

romance

will surely be misunderstood”

It’s my birthday today and it’s been nine years since I first celebrated my birthday in my charming city of sun. Many people would read this poem and critique the writer, laugh at the ridiculous sentiment. Not me. Today I’m a twenty-seven year old wife and mother who was once the subject of a poem. I went to Boston recently by myself. When I got back I told Brian’s dad that it was nice to just be Jess again. He tried to follow me but I could tell he was not sure of what I was trying to say. It’s not aging that’s scary. It’s losing out on chance meetings, mystery, lust, and yes, romance. It’s getting lost to the everyday. Today a twenty-five year old told me she was feeling old. She has a to-do list that’s nowhere near done. I laughed because I had a list too, in the back of a journal-a list of countries and monuments.  Concrete things.  The list is completely undone and it’s beautiful. I haven’t been to a dozen countries, I’ve had a dozen or more lovers. I’ve lost myself in love. I’ve known what love looks like when it’s reflected back in another’s eyes. I’ve woken up in my car. I know what it is to go hungry and to be fed. I’ve cried until I choked. I have sustained myself. I have sustained another. And, I’ve even had a poem written about me. I sit content for the moment and wait for my husband and child to return home to me, a woman who still has some mystery left.

ps-thank-you to the dear sweet boy who wanted a world where poetry on windshields was acceptable

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