A Postcard to My Husband While I Vacation in California

I write “Love ya” instead of
“In times of separation, I realize
reasons I love you, ones so small
they usually slip through
cracks in my mind. For example, the way
you call your headlamp a chicken light,
fasten it like a bandana
before you slide open the screen door
and swing crazily at a mess of bugs
on your way to the coop.”

I write “Miss you both!”
the exclamation point light and airy
instead of “My heart breaks
being away from the dog. Is he
on hunger strike because I’m away?
Does he think I’ve died?
Please explain I haven’t,
even though I explained that myself
before I left. When I call, will you
hold the phone under his floppy ear?”

I write “Beach was great”
because I don’t want the mail carrier
to know my neuroses
have followed me to San Diego,
that while I enjoyed reading
a whole book on a towel, now my
computer is open to a scroll of
sunstroke symptoms, a cold water bottle
pressed as dramatically to my forehead
as the back of my hand could be.