has been left by her,
lost himself, but he talks
with cocky certainty; he claims that his personality
has evacuated him. Perhaps he is just
going through the motions
of having one.
He’d had passport troubles, he said,
partly because of his changing face;
he thought of hitching with some Spanish fellows
who had bought a van and would be
going to India overland.
This country is a trap, he said,
the way it’s left me unrecognizable.
He showed me pictures of the way
he used to look, to prove it.
On his last night, he sat in his pyjamas
on his bunk bed, rubbing his mismatched eyes.
It’s not too late, he said.
I could renew my visa.
Or was that me, that said that?
Someone told the other,
Go shower. I’ll hide
your belongings while you’re in there.
Then you can miss your flight.
He told me he never read books
so that the ideas of others would never fill him,
never corrupt his essence.
Still, his face kept shifting.
It changed twice on the way to the airport.
Kaye Nash is a writer and teacher from Vancouver Island. She began her writing career while living in northern Taiwan, but now lives with her family in Canada once again, where she spends her days swimming in the ocean and reading Paulo Freire. She has had poems published in many journals including Mookychick, Lunate, and Anti-Heroin Chic, as well as in anthology projects from The Bangor, Teen Belle Magazine and Castabout Art & Literature. She is a regular contributor at Headline Poetry & Press. She can be reached at email@example.com and on Twitter at @knashingmyteeth, or on her website: https://kayenash.wordpress.com.