Stasis

I shower and dress, apply makeup as though I am going to work.  I barely recognize  my own  reflection   in the mirror but  I am wearing my favorite dress and my hair is the color of rusty nails.  I ignore your perplexed expression and questions.

Downtown I meld into the chaotic masses,  eyes that are infused with the pain of   survival. As the morning wears on relentless chatter becomes an undercurrent of whispers that fade with the crowd. Sweat  and strong coffee stings  my nostrils, clings to skin.  Alien faces  are etched behind my eyes.

The familiar  girl  is  propped against the graffiti covered wall that turns golden in the sunset. Her head rests against   skeletal arms that  wrap around her knees.  Jarred by a boot she glances upward from her induced euphoria,  fumbles in the pocket of torn jeans  fishing out a handful of dollars.  Glancing around the man slips it beneath his belt and places a small bag into her weedy fingers that loosen, dropping it between her feet. I wonder how she will sleep in the night cold.

Repelled by the  scent of urine, even the pigeons keep their distance and the stray dog lifts his feet. I feel those good intentions rising but they remain contained in my hermit mind. Does it count that I thought of her as she isolates to death?

Making my way back I pass  that abandoned  garden, pick a flower to playfully  slip behind your ear. I rely on distractions these days.

You kiss the back of my neck and once again describe your  beloved island and how the sun’s glare bounces off the seas surface and  life glides beneath the sparkling blue that spreads over the horizon.

From my deserted garden we share an apple that reminds me of an autumn orchard and a love struck boy whose memory compels me to rub my body against you in search of that trigger,  that wild place in my mind that is precious only if it is gone.