Upon Our Return from the Jungle

Upon our return from the jungle

We sat at our kitchen table

And thought about our eggs

Scrambled, over-easy

What difference did it make?

We didn’t eat eggs in the jungle

We ate dried out sloth meat

And whatever else we could catch, kill, and fire

Before the smell of it

Attracted something bigger than us

Now here we were with our little yellow plates

With neat and tidy breakfasts on them

The pancakes perfectly round

The toast perfectly square

The eggs not quite what we wanted

Not quite what we were looking for

Upon our return from the jungle

Our neighbors stop us at the mailbox

To ask after our health and our adventures

Were there crocodiles in dirty rivers?

--Yes

Were there tigers in trees?

--A few

Were you scared?

--Terrified

A nod, a nod, yes, yes, that makes sense

And then ‘Well—see you around!’

And that’s the end of the interaction

Lately all there are

Are interactions

Run-ins with people we knew

Before we went to the jungle

People who seem smaller now

Do we seem smaller now?

To ourselves? –Yes

But to others?

We make love in ways that differ

From the ways we made love in the jungle

In the jungle you make love

However you can

In whichever position is possible

At that given moment

Some people are surprised

That we even bothered

But you can’t help it

The hot, wet air

Forces your clothes off

And the sounds of wild animals howling

Drives something in you out of you

So that you’re reaching for whatever

And whoever you can

Pulling them close

Biting lightly at their skin

Sucking the salt from it

Alleviating the pressure

Matted hair, dirt-covered fingers

On the ground, in a tent

However it can be, it is

But here…

It’s a soft bed

And soft words

And no sounds

Other than the slight adjustment

Of the mattress

And then—

‘Are you okay?’

No, I’m not okay

I’ve made love in a jungle

Knowing that at any moment

A snake could creep out

From underneath my sleeping bag

And inject me with its poison

Making love like that

And then make it like this

Just seems…

Like I’ve had the most of something

And now I’m having the least of it

Can you understand that?

Upon our return from the jungle

We go through our mail

And throw everything out

Bills, letters, ‘Welcome Home’ cards

All of it goes in the trash

Along with our runny eggs

And our perfect pancakes and toast

We sit in our robes

Watching television

Wondering if we should phone someone

--But who?

We realize we want to talk to ourselves

The selves we left back in the jungle

We want to tell them to stay where they are

That the comforts of home

Are rosier in the mind’s eye

That the things we missed

Are bland and banal

Once you’re back at the kitchen table

With nothing to do

And nothing to look forward to

Until work at the office starts up again

In two weeks time

The coffee is too sweet

The shower is too hot

The toothbrush feels funny

Bouncing around inside our mouths

What have we done coming back here?

What have we given up

For the safety of a four-walled house

With houses all around it

Protecting it and us from—

--What exactly?

At night, we lay in bed

And even with our eyes open

We see it

Branches snaking across the ceiling

Fog rolling in from the hall

A light rain falling

On our pillow

We take a breath

And close our eyes

And the jungle returns to us