errant

(not to be confused with errantry, the previous poem and inspiration for this take.)

not all who wander are lost–

I read that on a mug once

next to a celtic knot

and a dishwasher safe warning

and I thought:

yeah. that’s me.

That’s exactly what this is.

I have wandered

into the wrong relationships

into the wrong rooms at parties

(where I knew no one

and stood near the chips

pretending to be distracted,

looking at my phone)

into the wrong version of myself

for so long

that I have the frequent flyer miles to prove it

into her life

like someone who had clearly read

the wrong address off

of a napkin

and just knocked anyway.

wandering implies direction underneath

a purposeful aimlessness

the man who wanders

knows where lost is

and is choosing somewhere

other than lost.

I am not that man.

I have been lost

inside my own office–

under a stack of papers on my desk

I have driven home from work

and sat in the driveway

for eleven minutes

because I couldn’t remember

which version of myself

was waiting inside–

the one who was fine,

the one who was going to be fine

or the one who kept saying “fine”

the way you say it about a dish

you are not going to finish eating.

All who wander are not lost

but I wandered

and I got lost

and I wandered again

looking for where I’d been

before I got lost the first time,

and got lost again,

stood at a crossroads

that wasn’t even picturesque

just a Quiktrip

and a closed Subway

and a cell tower

blinking patiently at everything below it

and I thought:

I’m not wandering

I’ve been wandering

if I change the modifying verb

I can probably change the time and

contextual shift so that

I’m living in it…

that man on the mug is somewhere scenic

he packed a sandwich

I on the other hand

forgot my wallet

I have been exactly here before

and I will most likely

be here

again.