A knock on the door,

But I'm not home.

I'm on the beach at Majorca.

A ring at the bell,

But he stands on the stoop

Alone,

While I peel an orange

To eat on the beach at Majorca.

I'm here with the ghost of Robert Graves,

And while he relates a story to me

Of hearing Catullus in person at Thebes

And understanding the perfect Latin,

I'm here.

I'm here.

I'm here.

Until finally I hear the postman say,

"Lady, I need you to sign for this package!"

And I slip out of my warm citrine trance

And back to my dark cold room,

Then down the hall to answer.

I sign for the package,

And as I walk back,

I realize I left orange peels on the beach

For someone else to pick up,

Along with all of my clothes,

And I've just signed my name for the package naked.

And I'm not sure which plane

I've left Mr. Graves in,

But I'm sure hoping I can find him.

-jenn