How I Feel Today
I drew this during a meeting. My arm looks the same as ever but my perception of it seems to have changed.
All I wanna do is drink a gallon of water and go to bed. Ghhhghhhhhh… happy Friday.
Sarah
The Visitors
I opened the window long before sunrise. Then I walked through the whole house, looking for anything that they might use against me in the light. A piece of hard candy on the floor could be a fatal mistake.
I had to placate them.
Even though I hadn’t told them anything, my children were on edge. They knew something was wrong. Kids are good at reading their parents.
A small sound in the hallway made me jump. But it was only my youngest daughter, in her footie pajamas, her face screwed up in childish misery.
“Mommy,” she said. “What is that smell?”
“Quiet, baby. It’s just the Visitors. Go back to sleep. I love you.” I held her close so she wouldn’t see my tears. I love you.
By the time she went back to sleep, the daylight was upon us in full force. I hadn’t begun the sacrifice. I hadn’t done enough. It didn’t matter; no matter how much I did, it was never enough.
I hurried to the kitchen and got out the eggs, the bacon, the butter for the sacrifice. They must be appeased.
A fatty thumping on the stairs.
Oh my god oh my god.
And there in the kitchen archway stood a harbinger of the apocalypse, my mother in law, cigarette in hand. She wore a puffy pink robe, which had fallen open, exposing her grotesque choices in underwear and in self-care.
“Where’s breakfast,” she snarled.
The other one would be down any minute. Soon our home would become a hellscape.
Outdoor exercise
We decided to go swimming.
Last day of summer! Let’s take advantage of this heat, we said.
So we went to the lake.
Nobody was in the water.
It was a cesspool.
Fluffy brown-streaked foam collected at the shore
Four feet wide.
As if the lake was a giant boiling cauldron of broth
But someone had neglected to skim the gathering proteins off the surface.
Or maybe the sand decided to have a shampoo
But passed out from the heat
Before it finished rinsing.
The lap lane ropes
Normally cordoning off the deepest area
Had desperately pulled themselves from their tethers
And morphed from a 50 yard rectangle
Into a pathetic oblong.
Even out deep,
The water was soggily crusted with dead insects, pollen,
And gray mysteries.
We looked at it
While summer’s warmth punched us repeatedly in the back of the head.
We decided to run instead.
We walked
We ran
We sweated.
The sun soldered our clothes to our skin.
The humidity held its slimy palms
Over our noses and mouths
As we miserably carried it
On an endless, sweaty piggyback ride.
Our reward, we decided,
Was an ice cream treat.
It melted so fast
We had to drink the last of it.
Sayonara, summer
You had your last hurrah
And my god
We’re ready for fall now.
You take my hand in yours
You take my hand in yours
But I’m too cold to feel it.
When I was younger
You were what I always wanted
This moment
The culmination of my childhood dreams.
But life takes bites
With every swim past.
This hand, that eye, this leg
This heart
All lost
All replaced
With perfectly functioning
Automatics.
Now I have you.
You who were once so precious to me
But I can’t
For all that I am
Remember why.
Bur Oak
Sorry I haven’t been too responsive lately. Things have gotten busy!
Today two friends and I cycled out to the Bur Oak
Locally celebrated as the oldest tree around.
We rested in its shade
Picnicked
Painted.
A frail old man with a cane arrived
Guided by a woman and a little boy.
It was evident his family adored him.
They spoke eagerly about what to show him next.
The old man saw my friend painting and was pleased.
He had gone to art school.
He was very honorable, soft spoken, knowledgeable and kind.
After they left,
Three carfuls of Chinese students showed up.
Amidst the clamor one of them said, without irony,
“It’s so peaceful!”
We got to talking.
Before we knew it
A beautiful slight thirty something woman
Was leading us all in a Tai Chi exercise.
She taught us Chinese words as we followed her movements.
Four motorcyclists arrived
In matching Harley Davidson jackets.
They found a spot amongst the roots
And made brash, cheerful gossip.
Of these very different people
Every one was here to see the tree.
Some casually leaned against it.
Some circled it.
Some squealed for a picture with it.
Some hugged it.
Some climbed among its roots.
Some solemnly sat and revered it.
How many people
Has this tree seen come and go?
What does time even mean
To something so ancient?
For most of its life
It had little significance
Growing up among peers.
Time passed
And all the trees around it fell.
Why did it remain standing?
A farmer’s passing fancy?
A fluke?
Or did it have value even then to someone
Beyond all other trees?
Now it takes our human adoration
Our traffic
Our abuse
All our attentions, for better or worse
And still it stands
Breathes
Drinks
Takes sun
Makes acorns
Towers.
Trees know something we don’t know.
We play at their ankles like children
Drawn to what they have
But never understanding why.
