Past Impossible

Past Impossible.

Isn’t that where I am now?

Past Possible, through Impossible, right on to Past Impossible.

They are towns on a highway populated by thoughts of people 
I once knew. Did they move, or did I?

What is possible?  True love?  What is that?  I don’t know.

Is it a chemical reaction, or is it something more?

I want to understand; I need to understand.

How long will I live here in the heat of this town?  
When do I get to move?

When does adulthood begin? 
Is it after parenthood?  
After marriagehood?

Is it just the next town down the road?

I waited patiently for my soul mate to arrive, 
but he was busy - too busy on the road to some

other town.  If an asteroid is held in place 
by its partner in space, it’s no wonder I’ve become

untethered – swinging wildly.  
My apple wasn’t as tempting as Eve’s.

Oatmeal and bananas aren’t going to keep me 
very long, but my ever ballooning waistline will  

keep me tethered, like an anchor.  I’m too heavy 
to fly away.

My bed reminds me of you, but not for the reasons 
you might think.  I lay here – happily – reading
your discussion about something (I know not what)
with someone (I can’t remember who);
I knew love at that moment.

And now, I’m back to oatmeal and bananas, 
feeling uncomfortable in and out of my skin. 

Maybe if Eve had eaten a banana, instead.

Beyond Impossible.  
That’s where I finally pulled over, got out 
and stretched my legs.  It’s just as hot here,
but I have hope.  Eternal hope: cooler weather
is always on the horizon.

The best days of my life were on the road to 
Possible – before we realized how quickly urban

sprawl would confuse us – and the city limits changed. 

It’s hot here.  
Is this hell, Dante?  
Or is it Satan’s version of adulthood: 
Past Impossible.