Practice Run 2 Poem by Terri Witek

Tour stops: the metal T of clothesline
and a 3-teeth comb dropped next to the bed.
Other articles missing. We'd meet next
in the drugstore's fluorescent midnight,
but that sign's dropped its X,
so let's try the RR station just beyond town.
By now I'm running, clutching my purse
with its lottery ticket and change.
Braless. Late again. But why hurry
this last poor excuse of a self, glacier scrape
before mountain, knife before lightning?
Colder. Now I drift through an hour
sliding cloud by cloud further
from the deepest regret of its life.
The country's been changed for a country of snow.
There'll be two of you, soon, to pay back
my waiting. It's finally clear:
what delay makes of us is what I most love,
not tracks half-eclipsed by snow
nor the imminent brake screech,
not your agreement, splayed less-than-yes,
that when you arrive safely, me too.