creak with warning for me
to turn the lock again, & i
am learning slowly
how to divide
my time in
two.
these days are still so cold,
i fall out of bed at six a.m.
& pull on my op-shop jeans,
my too-big shoes.
go walking to the bakery
for bagels & coffee,
it rains while i listen
to the voice of karen o.
& my umbrella turns in on itself,
it gets caught in the fence
while i pass the train-tracks
((clickety-clack)).
it is sunday,
i am happy.
struggle through a french novel
while twisting in my chair
& then to realise that i
have fallen in love
with conjugating verbs
but can this love last?
i circle the cemetery for lack
of anything better to do.
a child has fallen through the weeds,
the trail has turned to mud;
it is avoided only
by hopping
from fallen
gravestone
to
gravestone.
& my mother's back
will never suffer more.
i dawdle up to the library
to sleep by the columns
& sit in the corner
& stare at the skyline
which has been fabricated
on the window, with a clever
permanent pen.
but i have never known a permanence;
even this feeling which has charmed me,
& even on sundays, when i am happy.