sea to sky highway (postcards from canada)

“cmon, Kerri, we’re picking you up in an hour! we’ve got a surprise for you.” 

oh. 
i want to say no. 
i’m so tired. 
still, i should go. 
i don’t want to let them down. 

a campus pickup, 
in a silver rav 4. 
canadian nostalgia. 
i sit in the back seat. 
i watch city scenes
evaporate
to forest green..
ocean blue..
and mountain high. 

familiar territories,
we travel down
the sea to sky highway.

i keep rubbing my eyes. 
i can’t see it, the scene,

quite clearly. 
memories of hazel green,
realities of lack of sleep..
clouds my perspectives. 
embracing the lens in which i observe,
i don’t fight it. 
unfocused..
grainy.. 
a haze.
the here, and
the now. 

i’m trying to be in
the here, and
in the now.

we arrive.

a gondola ride, 
to mountain heights. 
touristy hikes, 
oh..yeah.. 
i guess i am a tourist now?

pose for a picture here,
pose for a picture there. 

keep smiling. 

i don’t want to let them down. 
i keep letting them down. 

“it’s just jet-lag Ker, it’ll pass in a few days.”

i want to tell them, it is deeper than that..
but i don’t think they want to hear it. 

i watch the boy
hang back from the group
to have more time with the girl
who takes her time, trying to memorize each scene. 
he speaks of wanting to find a home on the island, 
a house outside of the city, by the sea. 
she listens, so softly, so sweetly,
until the topic begins to turn.
he’s just waiting to meet his person, 
he thinks she could be his person.
he wants to spend more time with her,
he wants to get to know her better. 
but.. he hasn’t even ask about her..
about her life she’s building overseas. 
he hasn’t even asked her
if she feels the same way. 
he doesn’t fucking ask..

him: “do you have someone?”
her: “well. no. but. well, i don’t know. there’s a boy.. i like him alot. i haven’t told him. i just don’t know how, or even if i should, but.. he’s important to me, even if nothing comes of it. i’m not available. please, drop it.”

i imagine the he says, she says..
if he asked..
he doesn’t ask. 
he talks, but he doesn’t listen. 
can’t he see how high her guard is up?
he doesn’t even care to see
how she feels so fucking unseen…

oh!

i hear
a call. 

piercing, 
focused,
sharp, and
intentional. 

shit.

i realize
i’ve disassociated. 
again.

but they call me back,
the birds, 
how they bring me back
to earth. 

i look up!

pretty little birds, 
and the pretty little tales they tell. 
pretty little birds, 
and the pretty little songs they sing. 

they call me back. 
again, 
and again. 

i look ahead to my friends..
ah..
they look so lovely..
they look so happy..
they are waiting for me to catch up.

“aren’t you happy to be back [in canada]?” 
they ask. 
“yeah, this is amazing,” i reply,
with what they want to hear.
they look so happy,
i don’t want pull them away from that.

it’s all bullshit. 

i’m not really sure
how i feel, 
but i’m here.  
and i’m tired. 
really really tired.. 

they don’t want to hear that.. 

and oh..
i don’t want to let them down.
but oh,
i keep letting them down..