The Complexity of Days

I taste the apple butter  
simmered through the night,  
warm cinnamon  
caresses crisp air  

Not enough sugar  

In my sleepiness  
I add one cup of pink Himalayan sea salt  

I say aloud:  
I’m such an idiot  

Watch the words carelessly fall out,  
how outdated,  
insincere. 

I worry they might travel  
to the ears of my impressionable 7 year old son,  
soil him somehow.  

No, I say.  
Not now. Not true.  

I start over  
I make the tea  
Sit quiet,  
slow  

I buy flippers for my kid so he can better keep up  
with the returning salmon swelling the rivers  

I take the tent down in the yard, with a seriousness,  
a no nonsense Virgo swagger.  

I book off the days leading up to and after Thanksgiving,  
prompted by a body memory of longing for wild spaces  
Every year. 
I am reminded by something unseen  
my dislike for turkey, stuffing  
obligation  

I can’t tell if the day is cloudy or smokey  
I can’t tell if my headache is the air or peri-menopause  

We conglomerate bowls of Lego,  
too many pokemon cards are gathered and reunited  
into one single drawer.  
We take stock of rain gear, mittens, the many runners where  
big toes have punctured the mesh  

I can’t keep up.  
I keep forgetting to ask for help.  

The fridge door shelf breaks  
Again  
Weary duct tape  
Condiment yard sale  
Everything fatigued, scattered,  
out of control.  

I bathe.  
Give my cracked Leo heels  
their first application of oil  

The boys play sweetly today  
I let them burn egg cartons in the middle of the driveway  
There’s no denying or delaying their relationship with fire.  
Seasons of it now,  
ravaging hillsides, towns destroyed,  
lives reduced to ash  

I pick a giant bouquet for my friend, mindful not to wake the many sleeping bees 
Intoxicated, plump,  
Coated in powdered pollen 

I prepare to officiate a wedding.  
I rewrite and revise.  
Sluffing off misogyny and patriarchy with the swoop of my pen.  
Let loose the forever, until death do us part,  
add the word sovereignty.  

In the bakery parking lot I talk podcasts and death with two women from California.  

I feel hopeful as I eat the pistachio cream pastry on the car ride home,  
my loose exhaust rattling beneath me. 

I pull three tarot cards  
Watch the days light dim  
Feel the teetering, the edginess, the spinning away  
and call it a day.