HISTORY
3.29.21
The doctor said you need brain surgery.
I can’t help but wonder if the aneurysms in your brain get a little bigger each time I can’t remember a word in Spanish.
They’ve sunk, you see. Somewhere into the problems of my life here. Buying houses, nursing cats and gardens, lovers and lovers and lovers.
Meanwhile you break the seal in your dry joints every morning to walk over seventy years of life three kilometers for breakfast, prep the kid for school, clean the house, teach the kid at school, teach yourself fifty years of disconnection from academia, teach the kid again, help him with his homework, comfort your daughter after a day on the streets while you fear her breath carries your last.
For over a year, you’ve worn face shields on top of masks. Holding hoping your lungs will walk the park without breaking your bloodlines apart. Meanwhile. I loose sleep over mulch.
I am so, so sorry.