When I said 'follow me' I didn't mean it.

When I said "follow me" I meant
I wanted someone to know where I was going.
I wanted an address to send
gas station post cards too--
Each will be signed a different name
from the name tag of a grocery store clerk or
a the red- collar of orange-white cat keeping watch over
the CVS parking lot-- in search of
pie tins and firefly wing-dust.
Some days I'll just leave them blank
for you to fill in a story
I haven't even written-- imagine it for me--
play God with my life for a second
so I don't have to name myself today--
I was never one for post cards because
I have too much to write--
When I said "follow me" I didn't
mean on foot-- I meant hold onto
something that you know about me
even if it's only as thin
as a gum wrapper-- I meant remember
me liked creased edges of napkins
and carrot sticks.
Think about all the times I licked
oatmeal from spoon spoons and all the times
I asked you to pet my hair
and tell me it was okay to fall apart
as long as there was enough
left to pick up the pieces and
wrap them in old post cards.
The one I'm sending today is from
the Turkey Hill up the street
from the house that I no longer
think of as home--
It has a Hex sign on the cover
with two distelfinks in a love-locked stare
and it made me think of us.
When I said "follow me" I don't know
what I meant-- but I'll meet you
at one of these gas stations
and we can talk about feet-- and roads
and whether or not distelfinks are
real animals over open boxes of
juju bees, licorice, and firefly dust.