Letter to Layne from Tucson


First of all, I don’t care about the money.
I never have. Today the heat

reminds me of coffee surrounded by sex,
which reminds me of you in some way.

I think in the movie of my life there are
too many panoramic views of birds

flying up and away from the camera.
One of the hardest things I’ve had to realize

I realized just now, writing this. My distance
has hurt people. I hope you are not one of them.

The predominant tree here grows long, spiral pods
that can be ground into a sweet flour that nobody

ever grinds it into. One common cactus
has large pads that can be eaten as a vegetable.

I hear they are good with eggs. My point is,
there are interesting things everywhere

that no longer fill me. A friend of mine
takes care of a Vietnam Vet

who went over the handlebars
of his motorcycle. She lifts him

from his bed and puts him in his chair.
She lifts him from his chair

and puts him back in his bed.
She talks to him, tries to get him

to remember simple, small things.
I guess I’m saying that

I’d like to be held like that again,
if only in your mind, with care and utility.


-Matt Sadler (Salt River Review)

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