Two keys, chained;
Two private passwords;
Two separate addresses;
And somehow I always use the wrong one first:
The key for your door when I’m at my own;
The password to my laptop on your keyboard;
Your address on google maps when I’m late for dinner,
leaving me lost in transit between my home and yours.
My hands are telling me something that they only know
and I have tried strangling them to discover the truth
but only ended up wringing my hands with worry.
I’m not an absent-minded person.
Or, am I? I don’t know –
that might be too hard of a question for me to answer alone.
But, is there a pattern to my forgetfulness?
Am I selectively unconscious about certain things?
What will happen if I ever leave one of these two homes?
Will I hang on to the old key, the old password, the old address
and use them by accident out of blind nostalgia?
Or, will I toss it into the river and say “Be done with it!”
and curse the past like a feckless child?
Who’s to say what the future holds when the present
slips in between the past the way wind
winds through bamboo.

Collab. with Mariana Stabilé