wake again

I collect dirty dishes discarded on cushions and stools on the outskirts of conversations I lack the will to engage with. in the kitchen I run warm water and play with petty resentment as I hear laughter from the other room. I take for granted the privilege of turning a tap and knowing I’ll have water to clean with, not to mention the family I too often forget to thank. in the pew in front of us I see my eldest cousin watching over his daughters, who seem to have grown full faces of hopes and doubts in and under their eyes. I admire him despite how far I have disconnected myself from those relationships in the past. I have no doubt he’s an amazing father. the priest soliloquises about being more than lip service to what we claim to care about. I watch my father rub his eyes and wonder what he’s thinking. I listen to the prayers and try to make sense of the words from the perspective of someone to whom they are foreign. this goes nowhere and I laugh at the fact that I tried. there is no unlearning the script or the scripture in which I was raised to believe. I take communion and tell myself I should pray more.

I show my brother a film. he didn’t like it like I thought he would, though he’s zoomed through the play I let him borrow. we feel things in similar ways but don’t find the time to share them at the moment. I look for understanding in different places and find some kind of peace in the weight of the day on my eyelids. there is rain and then there is not. I will work until I don’t. until then, I sleep until I wake again.