Kintsugi

9 am:

Going for breakfast, all by

myself, wallet out for the first

time in eight years, I realize I’ve

no clue where my favorite diner is.

Is it around the left corner, past

the little park with brick paths

and pretty

benches, littered with petals

from forever blooming cherry trees?

Or around the right,

down twenty-second,

across the street

from his favorite

hotdog

s-

tand

next

to all of those girly magazines?  ughk… I’ll make a left.

 

Noon:

Feeling awfully hungry now—

There weren’t any cherry trees,

no magazines.

 

9 pm:

Took a cab back home at 6; cost $50—

I really didn’t think I had walked so far;

Thank god there was some

of his mother’s leftover lasagna

in the freezer still.

 

10 am the Next Day:

Slept in later than usual today;

my body must have

needed that extra hour to

glue itself backtogether.  I think I’ll sleep in more often, and also:

I’ll sleep on his side of the bed tonight, maybe even in the middle,

limbs spread like wings,

head crowned in pillows—

all of the pillows—

 

10:30 am:

I ordered take out;