Monday, April 10, 2006
Remains of the day
The names of the people who used to live in your apartment. The truck with the snow plow and the oil change sign. The immigration law rally and the 4 train that didn't leave the station. The Park View Restaurant. Isham Park. Broken eggs, one still whole. Personal landmarks. A patchwork of other people's lives. Shrink-wrapped dog bones. Peppermint patties. Burned CDs. The question of therapy. World clocks. Long-deleted webpages. The years before you knew someone. Wanting to sleep near the television. To take the pill tonight or not. Endless snail-mail solicitations. April 17. Certified mail. How quickly midnight approaches. Coming home to five dogs. Mixing up cell phones. The sitcom's twist ending. The question: Are you happy? The pause. The answer. The fear the pain hasn't gone away entirely. Not enough alone time. Too much alone time. Not enough sleep. Kronenberg 1664. The accent. The choice of languages years ago. The minutes of sleep time ticking away.