in your future
you will have a place to settle
in another life
this is all different.
i cannot see the trees swaying from the august breeze
or my shadow a reflection against the screen i am staring at
watching letters form words
not merely writing in a notebook.
the trees and the birds speak louder making it hard to concentrate on thoughts
there are many of us here
who sit or walk aimlessly throughout the day
with or without shirts
or obedient dogs.
there is a moment of fright:
when we can’t understand the name of languages
when all they want to do is jump rope
tie the other end to a tree and turn
i remember skipping jumping
a skill so useful and necessary
and now living in the brown house
with the hollow burnt end
the operation is far from over.
we want to settle in the aftermath.
i wonder when we will move forward to the next moment and
stand still in our blood.
there are so many watching walking
moving from one end to the other.
why are people circling?
what is the ritual of movement?
what is the ritual of falling through air
there are moments when we fail to recognize our ancestors and there are moments when the stranger at the bench typing furiously turns around right when the dark girl of about 9 turns around and then slips her hand back into her father’s. although the brown-paper-bag girl didn’t see it she knows it happened.
you found a place to settle and then the dog hair began to accumulate inbetween the keys of the keyboard you so furiously type into.
i sit and think about how i probably will never make apple butter with my mom and hope that my daughter wants to someday make apple butter with me.
i don’t have a daughter.
i think of the cookies with toffee bits of dark chocolate salt and vinegar potato chips.
i stop typing so furiously and walk back to the car and wait.