thought crime

Moving today/tomorrow. 

Waking slow. Is today a holiday? Birdie thinks so. She wants to snuggle in. 

But we need to eat, walk, take a cold shower, face the day. 

Waiting for the dark of no electricity at the old place. My timing has been off for a while. 

Remember when moving was much like changing jobs; every time the rent went up, when the raise didn’t happen…change. 

Then one year became three became eight became a want for roots. 

Marriage was my constant. The thing that grounded me. The thing around which all things pivoted. It was my constant until it wasn’t. 

His tiny mind thought there was another, an other love for me. He couldn’t rationalize that other was his. His friends, his coworkers always before me, then the IMs.  

His new marriage is as old as our divorce.

obstacles

feet stuck in mud hardening

as the moist air turns into a sweltering 

humidity and the gnats swarm

deeply I breathe slowing to an eight count

in then out purposefully in then out

ghost flies

she looks at the wall ceiling doorway empty space

my own eyes take in too much light 

but I’m sure there’s nothing there

she growls suddenly alert -  I feel 

the rumble in her chest  as she presses close

little heart beating fast I pull her closer

to settle into a tight sleep after a big sigh

s'up

collecting 

ceramic birds

wet socks

sand 

and fur

due diligence/but not always

Identify the goal. 

List actions items required to attain the goal. 

Anticipate challenges. 

Work each action item. 

Tackle any challenge. 

Tackle any unanticipated challenge. 

Be flexible if the path to the goal changes. 

Be flexible if the goal mutates. 

 

This will ensure you achieve your desired outcome, 

but not always. 

There is an unknowable variable at play.

This variable is the will of others. 

 

It’s okay to want conceptually, but not to want specifically. 

Take a deep breath. 

Be open to the possibilities before you.

cyclical

I worked…

              and worked one

so young so long so much

scrimping saving doing…

               without

he bought my youth

with nickels and dimes

divorce and drifting…

                more than surviving 

eating laughing connecting

doing things going places 

I dreamt myself into a

segue of pursing knowing 

scrimping saving doing…

               without 

one, two, three, four, five 

jobs I juggled if I needed 

               

back into the grind of two

one to get by one…

if I wanted I worked more

              and I got 

sick tired exhausted 

I dreamt myself into

to the joy of none

scrimping saving doing…

               without