So you’re going to Oregon!
Rosalinda! Why is the one
Remaining—who says goodbye—
Always full of tears,
And the one who leaves for Oregon
The one who hasn’t cried in years?
Go to Oregon.
I don’t care. I’m not one
Who usually cries.
But Oregon? You caught me by surprise.
In the quaint Northeast I have my books.
Go then. Go to Oregon, with its mountain looks
And its colorful meadows, vast.
I still have my tears. I still have the past.
You will leave the mess
Of your other decisions, always saying yes,
Ignoring my no.
Okay. You never listened to me. Go.
I will put to bed every decision you made.
Enjoy the dark you love. I’ll enjoy my shade.
You have no family and friends there, you
Are just going. Go. I hate the going, too.
There you go. To Oregon, with your dry eye.
And of course! You don’t know. You don’t know why.