3/4 of the way through the walk, on the way down the hill, I stopped and turned back and looked at the tree. I watched the leaves move with the rhythm of the wind, and having noticed this, grew conscious of the wind against my skin. I turned and kept walking and felt, at times, the sun, warm. Light flickered through the fence on the right. A large man with a flabby chest, firm calves, and a tattoo at his ankle walked past.
for the wind to suck
for the sun to rot
for the tree to drop
I often go running outside my house. As I near the spinning-studio, I slow to a walk. I seek my reflection in the glass. I look towards the people in the cars. The woman leading the class yells at her students. Are the flowers honeysuckle? Smells of manure from the barn down below and cracks in the sidewalk over the 110. When I was a girl, on my way to St. Ignatius on Thursday afternoons, I took wide steps. I competed with those around me. I alternated between stepping on the cracks and avoiding them. The ruffle of skirts or the firm pull of a scarf or the leather of a shoe at one's cuff all became windows into something not-me-yet-me. I thought (don't we all?) I was chosen.
salad with hash browns and green tea
the lady at the table to the left won't speak with her attendant: she has well-coiffed white hair; her attendant wears a pale t-shirt; they avoid looking at one-another
black-and-white prints of jellyfish line the wall above
they give refills of iced-tea but only have bottles of coke
we get the fish soup and split the vegetable mu xu
the boy at the counter hasn't steamed the fish before
Barry Schwabsky quotes Odilon Redon: "the shudder of the colored surface by tone over tone."
C and C have the same hair: him young, her old. P made soup but M doesn't eat it. P was just in Florida for a story. C (old) has been busy each night so doesn't have any groceries. M's missing a front-tooth. He tells a story about his cat. An altercation with his boss. No one asks about his tooth. P says it's nice here: he's never been. C (old) tells him the salmon tastes like butter. L says she's spoiled. I sit with C (young) and poke his nose. C (young) giggles. M looks vacantly towards the window. The couch is pale gray. The mid-size square pillows have a pale metallic sheen. The paintings are mediterranean. They match the sky and the tall pines out the window. The Japanese neighbor grew them. They have grown tall C (old) says. She remembers an altercation with the neighbor. The apartment is three flights up. She wore a neon shirt last-time. C (old) holds C (young) over her left shoulder. L sits on the patio and feeds him. B opened the slit in her shirt to feed her son. He comes into her lap and then leaves and then comes again. In the distance, I hear a child being slapped. He put the metal dust-pan in his mouth. No dirt but there is sand to sweep. The floor is wood.