In Reality

For the longest time I thought I might become

someone else.

I could be Norwegian and learn the language well so people would say how

no one could tell I wasn’t a native.

My hair would miraculously turn blond.

It would be ok to like sex.

I like the sounds of their desserts.

Or I could be a lawyer in Manhattan wearing crispy tight suits in black with very high heels and click click click across the court room floor stating my case with brilliant red lips and always winning.

Rootless like a malformed carrot I

refuse to flourish in one place.

I know this is a  problem this rootlessness.

It’s prevented me from 

applying myself  to much of anything: love, housekeeping, friendship, home repair… you get the story. I kept a suitcase filled with cash hidden in my house and a bag packed with essentials which changed from month to month.

Now my rootlessness fits right in. No one is going anywhere but everyone would like to be rootless.

Where will I go when I can go anywhere?

Hawaii because I can’t get the music of palm trees out of my head.

Like Eloise, I could move into the Four Seasons hotel on the Big Island and go down to dinner every night sitting at the bar overlooking the lapping ocean generously tipping the bartender so that he always saved my seat.

And oh yes there is the spa with palm leaves that rattle above your hut while you are having a massage. Preferably a Lomi Lomi massage and I don’t know what that is.

I have entertained myself all day thinking of places I would like to go when I can go anywhere. Frankly, it may be better in my imagination. That’s been a life long problem of mine.

Last Woman on Earth

I am the last woman on earth.

I live alone in my house and every day I do the Schedule:

yoga, coffee, meditation, breakfast, look out the window, laundry,

make the bed,

take a shower, take a walk, lie on the floor, wait for the dogs to

jump on me, eat stuff from the fridge,

gaze into it awhile. Brush my hair.

Add blush. Add mascara after thinking about how long it will take

to remove later.

No lipstick.

Yesterday I considered a small glass of red wine with breakfast.

I can’t remember the day.

My neighbor’s new dog barks

enough to make napping problematic.

I drink a lot of tea with half and half and maple syrup which is

tastier than sugar.

After 6 my garage is a café for friends

and dinner comes in white cardboard boxes. We slip food under

our masks like horses with feed buckets or dogs with muzzles.

We are dreamers who believe

next month will bring hope back and neighbors come

two by two

like passengers on Noah’s Ark

run aground and have a hard time leaving.

I’m glad for the distraction and for the wine and anesthesia.

I don’t tell anyone about the hopelessness.