Week Two: Side B

I woke up angry today so dumped Side A. Too maudlin.

Angry:

The terrible ‘25 is still blocking my access to earlier, healthier, more joyful times even though the old photos keep streaming onto my phone screen from life long friends. I conjure him, but he only returns in sickness and in pain. So.

Pissed about that.

And widow? What kind of word is that? Who left out the “n?” I need the N.

And not to get too woowoo about it, and ascribe any kind of weather to the human condition (although it’s a handy writer’s trick that no one that I read is above using) but it’s too cold for even the dog to shit. Too cold to mutter more than a quick hello to the slushy lake. C’mon now, Mother N. Cut us some slack here.

Speaking of Ns, this new concept of negative space is somehow crowding the room. Empty corners. Empty dishwasher. Empty writing. Vacated words. I know it’s thing in art and all but it’s not working wonders for me.

Hence this piece of shit.

I have had the all too common feeling too, in this second week, of walking back into the world, down a street, up an aisle, into a store and wanting to shout, “Wait, he’s gone! You cannot be moving ahead, chuckling with your children, speaking Polish in the hardware store, bagging your fucking family-of-four groceries.”

But there it is. The world. Spinning.

Wrap Up:

Our son bakes a birthday cake for his beloved. He would….

Wait.

Not yet with the “would.”

He does gleefully approve.

Our daughter marches downtown in the snow and cold railing against the murderous chaos that has descended upon us.

He’s raising a fist in solidarity somewhere I am sure.

Warm and safe and mobile.

A mantra I repeat over and over: warm, safe, mobile, warm, safe, mobile, warm, safe, mobile.

I have switched photos out of frames: discarding cute kids and inserting him.

It is day nine, then ten, then twelve and the dog has lost his scent and so grieves,

pacing the apartment looking for someone who is gone. And gets goner every day.

Pictures hold no smell

.