Passing an Ambulance

I wish I had finished this thought

as soon as I got home late that night.

I made a brief note in a spiral notebook –

“Passing an ambulance

On my way home.”

Here I am weeks later,

following up through a smokescreen in the dead of night,

thinking about time passed at my desk in New Orleans.

The ambulance probably caught my eye

because it reminded me of my disconnection.

There I was, just driving home,

in the deep, deep part of the night –

and the only other vehicle I encounter

is a frenzied ambulance –

But this is how

it always seems

to play out –

a jumbled of caricature encounters,

pieced together like found footage,

a memory of a memory of a place.

The note should’ve read:

“Ambulance passed me on my way home.”

I assume I pulled to the shoulder

for them.

So much seems incongruent

since then.

The ambulance probably reminded me

that I wouldn’t be kicking around Arkansas

much longer –

and when I had that thought,

it probably occurred to me

I wouldn’t be in my next destination –

New Orleans -- very long either.

and I’m assuming these thoughts

made me realize I haven’t

been anywhere

for very long at all

for quite some time now.

I try to think I’m okay,

At least, with this part of it,

that my own obfuscation

is alright, and sometimes it is,

but a note like this,

made months ago in a moment –

I was scared by how well

I could recall that moment

and at the same time all of its context

had vanished.

But the real kicker

is that I don’t know when next

I will be anywhere for substantial time,

or when next

I will look at the coming days

without that dark-hearted anxiety,

or when next

I can replant myself

and regrow the body I’ve so dislodged.