If God Asks, Tell Her I Give This Place Three Stars

No more and no fewer.

Yes, the vistas were majestic.

Yes, the smoked salmon omelets were–I’ll say it–divine.

I don’t think I’m alone, however, when I say there were never

enough Saturdays, and there were always too many options for

choosing how to spend them–cliff diving or window shopping,

getting the oil changed or self-destructing in front of a stranger.

And while some of the neighbors contributed in kind to courtyard

barbecues, others were [     ], and you never knew which you

were getting until you’d already paid the first and last month’s rent.

I’m not saying I didn’t have a good time, I’m just saying I’m not 

sure I should have. It was all too much, and it was never enough,

and I can’t help but feel as if I’ve forgotten more than I could ever

remember.

The woman who is being paid to swab my grandmother’s dry lips

sings the psalter like a seraph, and it should be me there with the

wet Q-tip, but I have to be elsewhere if I want to have the means to

afford a person to also swab my own chapped lips when it’s time.

It is the wildest, weirdest, most heartbreaking planet I’ve ever been.

I swear I just got here, but it feels like I’ve been here forever.

I don’t want to leave, & I absolutely, positively never want to ever 

come back.