Dollar a Day's Worth

When we stepped out into the late morning sun, I heard birds, the kind you hear in spring, and I didn't have to wear my gloves for a bit. The snow was thawing in sheltered corners, drops of water glistening, and people smiled as they passed. I know it is too soon; I know this is but a false start. I am encouraged, nonetheless.

Later, I walked to my sister's to pick up pots and pans, the details of a home for my shell of one. I crossed the cemetery, the church rose statuesque and quiet, as it always does, the ground was thick with snow, the early evening black. A letter landed in my inbox, tales of babies at risk and parents in fear, my helplessness painted trails behind me.

It will be alright. We must wait, we must be patient, we must weather this storm. Spring will come, in time.

Literally, too.

Urban Deli

The shower was long, but I had saved up minutes from so many lost showers; it seemed fair. For a moment I considered canceling, I was still tired, but I longed for the company, and I trudged that slushy hill down, the same street all the way down to the end, that street stays with me, hiding behind the main artery of the island, always linking to whatever alveoli carry another breath of oxygen for my life here.

She had a new apartment, it was beautiful. Do you know, tonight, for that brief hour before you all appeared, I looked around and felt like I could live here. Weeks pass, entire lives up and over, the island remains.

We ended up at the same bar, always the same blocks covered, comfort in routines. I walked home later, the same street but uphill now, a cobblestone home so many months in the making. The hours with you, I needn't think forward or backward. Your voices in my ear are a refuge, I am comforted. I vow never to stray, to go too far away or too long without. Your voices in my ears, I am safe.

On Timing.

A full moon came and went while I was busy turning out my insides for some common winter virus. I slept a hundred hours in its wake. Now my days and nights are turned upside down, but it's too late.

This empty apartment is at its best when the full moon comes in through the kitchen window. Like a sliver of magic where you thought none would be. I leave my blinds up. To no avail.

Any Human Heart

The world is at war.
Nothing has happened. Nothing bad, anyway.

I have a secure nine to five job, for the first time in my life.
I go to work on the tube. I have an office, secretary, decent salary.
Although it seems strange to be wearing a uniform.
I feel I'm betraing my vocation.

I'm meant to be writing a novel.

Monday Mornings

The baby cried at seven-thirty. Her mother passed me, told me to sleep a little longer. Jet lagged weariness gave me another few hours, I woke thinking there is nothing sweeter than good sleep and longed for more. But in the dark night, in the old apartment, at the end of all the travels, my eyes are wide awake.

It begins now. Life. It begins, again, now. You commit to a city, to employment, to apartment hunting and social spider webs. You commit to a spring that has to come, eventually, and to looking ahead when it's much sweeter to look behind. You cling to that smile in your pocket, like a talisman you rub nervously, pray it will carry you through the rough spots.

Life begins every day.
It's just a little more obvious, today.

For a While

Long long time ago
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.

We tell stories, all night we retell histories past, and I don't know if they were that fantastic or if there's nothing new to say. We sit in a bar that was once the place for our regular club; the memories pile onto what was once a dance floor; we are older now, it is but a bar.

There's a new generation hanging on our ankles now; we are still the children we were. Some things never change and I love that they don't.

But I also love that they stay where they belong. I have another life now. And we can't go home, again.

Svartensgatan

The hallway echoes when I enter, the door slams shut fifteen times after I pull in my suitcase behind me. My now-former roommate has left a few trinkets, a love seat, a few cups, a toothbrush holder. Every piece warms my heart, reminds me of a home we had; I am left now with only questions of what home this will be. I fall asleep quickly, deep jet lagged sleep with no regard to circumstances. Once I wake it is time to leave, to drink, to forget.

We sit in a corner, the regular bar, the familiar warmth, and try to catch up on the weeks that were. An early train departure lies in wait, still we order just one more round, twice, but it will work itself out.

Can we just decide it'll be a fantastic spring? she says, in the swirl of messy stories and confused question marks of what is to come. Good things will come, I know it. We part ways on the corner, the same corner as all those months ago but snowed over now. The cold bites my cheeks, wakes me. It'll be a fantastic spring. I know it.