Waited until past one in the a.m. to open the window. Snuck out onto the rooftop. Well past curfew. Limber steps leaving bare impressions on shingles and corrupted gutters. Stealthy against the current of stars and an outdated moon, moving towards yesterday me. Taking it slow at the outset. Pressing my body close as patrol cars passed on the otherwise empty streets below.

Took each leap with silent ease, house by house. Pleased with my graceful transitions, naked feet dancing between the debris. Cigarette butts, dead leaves, branches tangled with exiled toys, misdirected Frisbees, the occasional empty tallboy. Each leap involving the same repeated glimpse into red-lit windows, silhouettes the shape of individual reminders. Caught sight of the time it was, and the time she said, and the time I thought, and the time we never did, and the time I thought this was the last time, on and on until it was only lovers in those windows, somehow wise to my strides, and curtains were drawn, shutters cinched, shades pulled down in anticipation of just how fast I was stealing my way back, respects from the occasional tin-roofed cat with bird blood for lipstick, glancing up from dead feather dusters.

All across New Orleans, by way of rooftop. Only down to recognize the Central City intersect of Claiborne and Louisiana Avenue, then full stop to peer through one last open window.

Perched myself on the sill, haunches just starting to ache, eyes prying through the screen to spy myself sitting in a room almost free of furniture. Futon laid on a floor of filthy blue carpet. Naked walls all done with the promise of posters, pictures, art, or any other fetishism. Card table. Outdated laptop. Ash tray. Bottle of wine, cigarette smoke clouding my view of the once and never was, now  five years before first stepping out of my window and raced counter to the sky.

Saw myself tap out another sentence or so. Toy with the notion of a Marlboro half way down to the bone. Caught myself wearing a smile. One last pull from the burgundy, and then a snub, putting out that ember with the clear understanding that the decision to stop was entirely mine.

All that autonomy required of me was to turn in my curbside swivel, and slide to the floor.

Ignoring the threat of roaches, mice or mites.

Curling under a navy blue comforter, split at the seams. One pillow for the head. Another mismatched twin to hug as another night supposed its way into another day, and I waited.

Reached for the screen. Popped it out of place without a sound. Didn’t bother to see what I had written, notes on a desk calendar flipped to early March, 2017.

Slid next to my sleeping yesterday and wrapped an arm over and around. Drew close, breath on my wrist, slight stirring as one of us sighed.

One last look out the window.

Noticed the stars had stopped moving.

And I kissed my shoulder goodnight, tasting salt and nicotine sweat, leaving the smallest impression of a story I might tell myself someday.

###

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so long and thanks for all the pish.