I keep reading you.
It does not make the disappointment enough to swallow.
This morning the neighbors bought more
flowers, shrubs, herbs for the backyard.
I cannot make myself keep up.
The white dress laid across the arm chair,
flowered shoes and a silver clock on a necklace
set on the floor beside it;
I am trying to prepare myself.
The sickness came back lazily,
bruised the inside of my head and sent me
back to bed like a bad child.
I do not want to end like this.
I was just trying to touch base.
My muscles atrophy when I can’t use them.
The cursor on my screen untypes my thoughts.
Is it going to be backwards like this
for much longer?
One arm is sunburned, and the top of my right thigh.
I wish he hadn’t tried to explain himself so much.
I was glad she prayed it away like a sickness.
These are not metaphors.
It is Saturday.
I am speaking as plain as I know how.
The dog is howling in the sunshine
next to the garden while I write.