Meanwhile – Tiffany Gibert
The pool at the W Hotel in Bangkok has got those
high-tech speakers underwater,
so you never have to be free of that
pumping beat. Detox, retox,
begin again in neon consonants blaring
an adage for all ages of tourists who are not
disturbed by the bar’s mural of a baby
holding a five-eyed duck.
—but meanwhile I’m in Combray.
I’m Proustian sun-drunk, soaking in a perfumed
melody of asparagus urine and trying
to divine a road between
a love I once outgrew and the
transcendence of a fictional depiction
of a church and forget-me-nots in glass.
There’s a middle-aged American eyeing me
while eating French fries and thinking
I don’t see him. There’s my fiancé
dunking his head and dripping with his own
tow-headed type of impossibility. So
you might think this is a movie version of my life
in which I turn to either man and mutter
something clever about the light.
But there are no other versions.
In this citied wilderness, there are no
forking paths at all.