NaPoWriMo #23

Monday, April 23, 2018

Take This the Wrong Way


At the playground, E joins three other children on the metal turtle’s back.  They contemplate things with their different angles of repose and hair.  One child had been playing an elaborate game with him on a different structure, trying to imagine where the rooms of their house were and what they were for.  There are ghosts in our ship house! he says, trying to lure her back.  No response. 


I speak with an old friend by telephone while watching through the back window as my son brandishes a tree limb. He is gardening with his collar popped.  I’ve gained 30 pounds since moving here, I say. He took the end of my youth and now I’m just this lumpish thing sitting here. That’s how it feels, anyway.

You never know, she replies.  Things can change suddenly and in ways you would never expect.  She refers me to the acknowledgments of her second dissertation, in which she thanks her lucky stars for my friendship and brilliance.  She is planting vegetables and nearly making science money now.  I just sit there.  


Things I read entreat me to focus on what I want more of.  I want more of the firm pillows and fewer of these overly fluffy ones.  I want love, just white light washing through.  Suffusing.  Love and firm pillows.  


I take the car he leased to do errands after dark.  I sit in the empty parking lot of the library branch and stare.  I stop by the store.  I take the highway home and slow down as I come upon a police car stopped crossways across the lanes.  I’m really most comfortable this way, taking the detour alone and crying a little while listening to the doomiest music.  The song is explaining that really my life is relatively easy.      


Before bed I think, I must unblock my throat.  I think, Maybe palpate my sternum and third eye, tune in the receiver.  In this way I can receive and transmit the proper energies.  In the morning, I kneel next to small desks and observe the children in their works.  We talk about haircuts.  O has gotten a haircut.  He has visited his father all day, despite the separation.  Your parents must be in a divorce! E says.  Yes, it’s true they are divorced, replies O.  E and O both read well above grade level, but both sit outside the rug circle sometimes when they won’t stop moving.  It is a rectangle, anyway, E protests.  No matter what happens now, I must prepare my instrument to transmit and receive.  Most people are out there trying so hard.  

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