One minute it's morning,
I wake up,
Disregard that look Harper shoots me,
As I double tap puppy videos.
He old man Grandpa grunts gargling by my feet
Two minutes too long,
I scroll the scroll some more,
Some more.
some more...
Getting a headache,
A combo
That aggressive shine,
Married with the harsh reality,
Of our new now,
My feet touch the ground,
In his limber dreams,
He remembers,
Running.
I too reminisce,
Of the times,
We three,
Owned our mountain tops
Our youth.
The smiles.
Now,
Stuck coldly pressed heavy
Onto a sleep stained pillow.
I make coffee-
Sometimes,
Like Grandma
In years etched out before me.
It's there,
From yesterday,
I gently touch,
Press 'on'
To warm the pot
That sits half way full,
I remember the time-
I was at Worlds of Fun,
Not her funeral,
Ignorance of youth,
Discovering the option of choice
I remind myself, we are in a recession,
And wonder how long her pickle jars
Sat in damp cold packed basement,
Where our Kitty Katie-
Ran alone.
Heard the other day,
Lockdown enforced potentially til-
April 26.
By certain calculations,
The worst of it is now,
Or within the week-
Really can't be sure.
Have we all overreacted-
The only calculation,
To understand
How we've won the war.
Quarantining since March 12,
Zombies walk the streets
Downtown-
A bad day for all-
To simply be out of doors,
Close to one another,
Cafes closed.
Who have we become?
And we're the healthy ones.
Before I know it--
Dusk sets in.
I track the day by times Harper hops to pee.
Did he poo?
Weird question-
I have to ask and mind myself,
Giving him too many scraps,
Those eyes,
Have won it all.
The prize-
Diarrhea.
Wisdom of love,
And years,
Besting us all.
The change in routine,
Taking it's toll.
His office-
The bathroom,
Our apartment,
The obstacle.
But oddly,
I find myself content.
Nary is a day,
I don't have plenty to do.
The one day we did nothing-
That was when I
Woke up sore.
My instincts tell me.
Move-
Go-
Here
Oscillating between
Puzzling,
Sewing,
Bread,
Candles...
Quiche.
Several days I left butter on the table to warm,
Thinking I'd make another batch of cookies,
If this was 2009,
Harper would've swallowed it whole,
And Marlow the Summer Sausage.
A brunch for two.
Out at work,
I was not invited.
My days now pretty full.
Of all the things I want to do.
In her clothes.
I don't know what people did when they had jobs,
How we all had time for...
Life.
Mike's cleans today.
Full stop.
Movement.
He's good at it,
But much better at
Facebook.
We have so much crap in front of our door it doesn't fully open.
The new now.
Feng Shui seems to think inside is where we zhuzh it best.
How do we even operate in this mess?
It's our mess.
And things are moving.
Everyday-
Something to fix.
Not a person,
Not a project,
But a garment,
And I love that.
Projects to be mended.
Problems to be solved.
It's not perfect
And no exact science,
But I alter.
In her clothes-
And this is what keeps me close.
Grounded.
Moving.
The most peace and satisfaction
Sitting at the Machine.
My Machine.
Hers-
Sewing-
Seeing a piece come to life.
The days that followed her passing,
I brought her clothes back.
We cleared the house.
Never thinking internal or out loud amongst eachother.
It all happened so fast.
At least on my end,
It was mostly, truthfully, truly...
I wanted what I wanted of hers,
At the time I thought we were helping dad,
And sure we were,
But now-
Truth be told, now...
I'm glad we did what we did for us.
Especially when I sit at her sewing machine,
I wish I kept more clothes...
We must've dropped off 8 large garbage bags
Full of personal items to the Goodwill.
That flowered dress,
The yellow lace one-
She wore to Drews wedding.
Those I wish I kept...
When the wonderment creeps in,
And I just miss her so,
I try to rest my breathing.
It was too soon to let her go.
Every day I wake,
I'm glad she is not in this mess.
Wondering, worrying...
Not being able to get to her.
What a bright light.
We will get through.
Together,
Separate,
For each other,
A different place
From here.
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