a new failure every week

Please don’t expect much

I am capable of many things
but today I am tired and
my heart is elsewhere

nonetheless, I am here
even on a day when being here
is an accomplishment in-and-of itself

so if you catch me lost in thought
staring out the window or down at my phone
please forgive me and know
that I will shine again tomorrow.

You know me by sight
By order, not by name

I know you by your freckles
Medium light roast, please

You hand me my drink
The same one I always get
I smile and say thank you
You smile brighter, right on cue

I will see you in a week
And probably the next week
And maybe the next one after that

And then on some gray Friday
You will be gone
A shift change or a new job
I will never know

There is a car parked out front—
its headlights on, engine running quietly

you peek through the drapes, careful not to be seen
and you see me sitting there at the steering wheel—
not starring at the door impatiently
not muttering to my wristwatch about lost time
not looking nervous or full of expectation
but just waiting, as if waiting were itself a thing to do

you can’t recall how long it has been, seconds or days
but you look down and see you are dressed and beautiful
and you notice your hand is on the doorknob, turning it
and you find yourself stepping out into the cool breeze
walking lightly down the steps with a little bounce
moving carelessly, as if you were a slip of the tongue
or an accidental smile

as you open the car door you feel the feeling
of not quite remembering—the feeling
of having lost your page in a book—
what once was is no longer
the world is an empty place
all you know is you are going somewhere new.

The corn is in the fields
the sun is high
a cool breeze is moving
the cicadas are whirring
birds are chatting between branches
a yellow crop duster buzzes overhead

I am sitting outside in my chair
thinking about how soon autumn will come
and I will have to remember where exactly
I packed away my flannels and my jeans.

Percussion of pavement, dull crush of gravel
the sound of one after the other underfoot
again and again, one after the other
one after the other
steady breaths, slowly in and out
not gasping—churning like a storm
one after the other and the other

tingling sensation in the cheeks, wind-burnt lips
the sting of salt at the corner of the eyes
blood pumping loudly in the eardrums
heartbeats rippling through the entire body
one after the one after the other after the other

one stride at a time, one breath at a time
just follow the stripe rolling down the road
the horizon is nothing, is nothing, is nothing.

The low shimmering light—a chill and a slight haze
this sunset was lit four billion years ago, and still it glows
the river below tells its ancient story to the rapids
the squirrels have taken to their branches
and the songbirds have forgotten their songs

the moon aches in anticipation of the night
early stars begin to arrive and take their seats above
and satellites leave home to wander heaven’s streets
as darkness seeps into the cracks and low places

if you took a photo of us, it’d say we came here together
but accidents like this are more divine
soon I’ll watch you walk away, and soon we’ll both forget
for the moment, though—at least for the moment
each of us is here, and together we are perfect.