The sun laughs and the children shine in the colonnades
of palm trees exercising in the southwest breeze. I grasp
for the absurd while sipping a steaming latte on a day warm
enough to ruminate itself without the help of failed poets.
My pink ears perk before each sip, hoping to catch this afternoon
talking to itself : “some blue sky over here, some clouds over there
and I should be good” the day might whisper as it furnishes Carlsbad.
While the afternoon blows about her business I forget the gender
of the German noun for day. Whatever the gender, this day is one
building block of forty-five years of life, twenty years of marriage,
fifteen years of developing software, and six years of cleaning the
same condo. Funny what you can build with enough of these days.
Lately I’ve been filling them less with new life and using them
more as dressings for old wounds, unwrapping old days and applying
fresh days to the same gashes to prevent infection and preserve function.
Breathing in and out in a meditative fashion will not heal a scarred marriage
but it provides good currency for time, which in itself is another currency.
The refund policy is lousy, and you can’t store days in tupperware.
What would I spend to rebind the bones of this marriage or the lost friendships?
How many days does a bad decision go for? How many to upgrade to a good one?