“saint daniel”

and you tell me,
names have power.

they do, you know-
i change mine
every time i change myself-

my radio speaks to me-
this is chicago calling-

i have lived in chicago for ten weeks now
and i haven’t been to the green mill yet-
i have been teaching myself to cook,
how to bake bread,
and walking streets
that are newer to me now
than when i first saw them-
the kindness of years in reverse-

the leaves have started to turn-
morgan has already left,
gone to korea-
there was nothing here to make it worth staying,
and a broken heart to escape-
i said that i could relate,
but that was a me with
a different name-

ten weeks-
the white sox are in the world series
and i have a driver’s license again.

 

it seems illinois doesn’t care
what you have done in texas,
i say to morgan.

we are not bound by our names
but to places,morgan replies.

ten weeks-
i am on a train bound
for a plane bound
for san antonio-
midway through and back
where i started-

this is texas calling-

this is a time of boredom and hunger-
of blood and needles-

this is madison calling-
this is san antonio calling-

i used to dream of finding her in airports-
i had a scene written in my head-

i would find her waiting in a restaurant.
nothing fancy-
an airport branch of a fast food chain.
maybe on a layover
in the cities i would travel
those days-
i never found her.
(why would i? i asked myself,
what would she
be doing there?)
she was in all of those places.
i could have found her again in indianapolis.
we could have met in some stark terminal
in seattle on our way to chicago
recognizing each other as we waited to board.
instead i found her in austin
and it was far too late-

who-we-were gone, lost like
missing teeth
and i knew where i would sleep that night-

we were not friends-
and i had changed my name.
she didn’t know how to call upon me-
not anymore-

this is san francisco calling-
this is portland calling-
this is seattle calling-

all of these places are the same,
i say to morgan,
the same city
with a different name-
what do you think you will find?

the wind steals the reply,
and i nod anyway,
knowing whatever was said
would be true enough.

the wind blows,
a reminder of autumn,
a reminder of place,
the difference between where-we-are
and where-we-were,
and it feels good,
melancholy, somehow significant
just to feel it.

you know if i could make the world beautiful for you,
i still wouldn’t.
there is too much to cherish in coldness-

this is montreal calling-
this is new orleans calling-

i know the truth-
i know why the prince changed his name-
i know what he feared he would become-
i know what is hidden under the layers
worn to keep warm-

we are not here to seek warmth,
this is not a time for comfort and peace.

this is a time of boredom and hunger-
this is a time of needles and blood-

my radio picks up weak signals,
i would turn it off if i could-

this is austin calling-

austin, i thought i was through with you-
i thought you were an old lover,
one i would not see
except in sentimental dreams,
waking in the night confused
and feeling guilty
for having you on my mind at all-

i was right.

austin, i do not want to be here-

your leaves have not turned-
your sun burns with summer intensity
and the songs in your cafes have not changed
since you were new to me-
i am not at home.

it is not your name that has changed-
it is mine-

it is not within our power
to remain the same.
such change moves past us-
like the wind, like our names-

we will not stay beautiful-
you know that
we will not stay beautiful.