I step out of the shower
Conscious not to slip on the tile
I glance at the microwave
11:11, it blinks
Make a wish
If only I could go back to that grateful poem
The one I wrote in January, I think
I select a pink dry-fit dress
Put my hair in a high pony
Anti-aging eye cream in spite of the humidity
The heat of the day beats down on my shoulders
The convertible top down and the wind in my hair
I am headed on a picnic with friends
Where hummingbirds linger just a little longer than elsewhere
The water tastes of Hibiscus
A trio of shrimp tacos is delicious
The scent of summer rain is heavy in the air
My friends smoke a joint and laugh without a care
I retreat to my own thoughts for a while
And mimic listening.
I stare at my computer screen
Trying to calculate the extortion rate of my life and love
Or trying to write a business plan for a client
Pretty much the same thing at the moment
There is no poetry in this task
I grieve the immense loss of a place I once had
Before trust was shattered, afore I dared ask
My resilient thick skin is wearing thin
I start to cry
Must I fight vulnerability? Do I give up or give in?
Right now I am thankful for the rain shower head
I wash my hair as if I am shooting a commercial
I need these 5 minutes however superficial
If I had a bathtub I’d likely sell suds swimsuits
Sauvignon Blanc meet Mr. Bubble
I meticulously shave to remove all stubble
Why do women go through this ritual?
As if I expect a suitor to knock at my door
We’re nowhere near the fun, f*ck, and eat stage
A worn out sleep T is hardly a magic elixir.
For the first time in many weeks I’m relaxed
Sunk deep into the goose down mattress topper
I feel both heavy and high
In that moment before falling fast asleep
When the anesthesiologist tells you to count backwards from 10
9, 8, 7….
Right before I drift to Never-never Land
I feel a cool breeze graze the fine hairs on my spine
Everything is going to be just fine.
Everything is just fine.
It always is.
~Just L (September 27, 2018)
Author’s Note: 584. Why do I still count days?