A Constant Flow of Figuring Out:
how to cook, clean,
how to salary, how to bills,
how to relate responsibly
to family, friends,
how to language,
how to home,
how to walk
with confidence,
how to appreciate
when I’m older,
how to stop insisting
that I can’t, how to will,
how to live
where the sidewalk ends,
how to still
my mind when looking
at the sea,
how,
when deterred,
how to capture the word:
“lizrom.”
Month: November 2017
traffic
Through a window, behind cars zipping by, the clouds haze over the trees and paint the sky like a tea bag in water. Mountains almost disappear in the distance. One grain field appears, a muted yellow, everything beside me softened by the clouds. I sit on a beaten-up velour bus seat behind a curtain that I can’t manage to close. If I tried, I’d probably succeed. But I leave it slightly so that it gapes open even more when we turn, a half-open door reminding me as the vehicles brake and go and I pretend to care about wasted time: soak in all that’s out there waiting for you.
Hair not quite dry from the shower this morning, at the cusp of the afternoon, I live here now.
Today I have time for traffic.
4-way bench
On Ben Gurion Blvd
(I’m watching)
3 grown men arguing
on a 4-way bench –
they yell, gesture, then
one stands up and
(before he storms off)
the whole thing tilts away
like it’s a grown up seesaw;
he pulls his weight from the fight
and it no longer stands.
I sat on that exact bench a week before
(I remembered)
when I sat down, it all tilted toward me
as if everyone else had already stormed off
and I was waiting for them to come back.