lilac blossoms

the bags are heavy and the screen is too busy. I work longer than I should and it’s as though the time between was nothing more than an answer to questions exchanged while we wait for the meeting to start. the deadline waits at the end of the day and I pool what energy I can scrape from the wax already spilt to fuel the engine. by time I shut the lid and leave the house the air is cool.

I run to the park and along the path I’ve mapped through another year of holding space without reason. there is a woman on the slope by the second oval posing for her closeup before the lilac blossoms raining from the trees by the path. the colour makes me think of a friend I’ll never see again and a long sleeve I never wear anymore.

once I’ve brought in the washing I bring my list to the shops. by closing time I haven’t found what I want or need and decide to make a salad. my missed calls return when I can’t take them. I try to remember the last time I felt capable of doing something well, and conjure the familiar spell of self pity and rage at my lost potential. I didn’t read the news today and I loath myself and the privilege that cushions me safe enough to sulk and hide while my taxes burn cities to hell. when I wash my face I wonder why without stopping to follow the thought.