Member Poem

The five of us were asked to bring
one small thing we couldn't live without.
We carried keys, photographs, a passport,
a wedding ring, and serious prescription medication.
we thought we would honor in ceremony.
Instead, we were told
to throw them into the ravine.
It took as long as it took.

We stood
clutching,
thinking,
glancing
down.

I was first to toss twenty-two countries away,
but I was cheating. Unlike the others,
I could get another passport; this one
would get me out of here, now.

The man with the keys went next.
We hiked downhill together,
discussing the meaning of the word
retreat.

We reached his car in the lot: locked.
Looked at each other and laughed.
We had our feet.

Published in Bicycle Lotus, chapbook