NaPoWriMo #28

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Postcard to RBW

I send you a picture of my child holding up a spectacular branch against a background of weeds, explaining that I’ve lost the will to weed, and you write back, “I wish I could come fix things for you.”  The irises by the back step didn’t bloom this year, all bunched up there together and proliferating in one spot.  The time when I was supposed to divide them was also the time some other horrible equation entered my home.  The algebra of abuse, the geometry of “I’m not crazy, you’re crazy.” The number of years spent with the wrong man divided by the times I looked at him sleeping and wondered at his intelligent hands.  I don’t know if I’ll make it to the sea this year  is what I thought, but of course I’ve already gone.  We took selfies by the sea, two-thirds of us weird sisters.  This brand of friendship that can keep a soul alive while endlessly marveling, marveling at the limits of our power in the wrong environment.  I’ll see you when the hurly-burly’s done.  

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