weekendstream

My baby brothers are college graduates and I have a wide open space on my bedroom floor--I've never had this before, and I've never had these sorts of shadows. Time has been making, apparently, less progress than I thought it was, and all the same, the toddler with the dark brown curls is inching ever closer to intelligibility and my head is finding the crook of your neck always and ever more my home. I walk barefoot through public restrooms and I grind my teeth behind your back. And you know why? It's because I can sense the pain inside you and I can't do anything to take it away. I've had a sore spot working its way down the edge of my spine and I've been trying to figure out how to make coffee for one, but I seem to end up three spoonfuls short. We're totally going to be ok here. I remember well when I thought I would be ok back there, too, and then I just started dropping things, like I was carrying heavy bags full of groceries up the stairs myself and one by one the eggs slid out with a wet cracking and I was left holding empty cartons and looking around for the first, the only thing that could keep me up. I love. I really do. Your undefinable charm, the way the ice cubes clink in the cup as I tilt it toward my mouth, and the way I what I give, I get back. I'm proud and I'm exhausted and dusty. It's been another day.