earned journey

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8:48
Sunday morning
80 degrees already
but they say it’s gonna rain
I’m walking on hot concrete
past dog-walkers and lawn-mowers and church-goers
and signs that say ‘one way’ with their arrows drawn against me
~
my bag contains a corset, a camera, and the receipt from a bar tab I don’t remember paying
I am wearing a T-shirt and sweat pants
and four-inch tall, jet-black stilettos
because I packed inappropriately for this mis-adventure
and everybody knows
or thinks they know
I wish I were that sure about something
~
and then, because God has a sense of humor
just in time to step over it instead of on it
I see a stick of hot pink rock candy
dropped, discarded, shattered in some places, pristine in others
and melting into this road with me
~
ten minutes later I am half-way back to where I abandoned my car and so much else
my joints hurt
at every place I come together I am aware of myself
these bags are heavy
heavier than I remember them being when I set out
and that guilt I had been praying for
is finally settling in
~
the sun is out from behind that cloud
we are both exposed
I want to stop
to rest
to not be seen for a little while
but there is no turning back now
I said I was going home
I left a note
I locked the door behind me
I’ve come this far
I’m committed