Today I put on a skirt
my mother gave me yesterday,
one she wore when I was a kid
and she was more fashionable.
I felt very chic in my mother’s skirt –
it matched my nails exactly.
I dropped my keys behind
Renee’s car, and somehow
a woman found them, and somehow
she found me, she reunited us,
and as she gave them to me she said
I could tell she meant it,
which was a little weird but
also kind of nice.
I talked to a woman on the phone
about a job,
and in those thirty minutes
a potential future outspread before me,
as they have been doing so much,
of late, this static, languid summer.
I watched fog drift over asphalt
as it rained and the sun kept shining
and I sat outside, the fat drops
drenching my skin and hair,
alone except for 12 uncooked pizzas.
My day wasn’t special,
and I probably won’t remember it
in a few months,
but it was mine.
I inhabited its corners and
breathed in its stillness and
that was always enough for you
to want to know it like I do.
I can’t wrap you up in my everyday,
and the only thing I loved better
than giving my heart and mind to paper
was giving them to you,
because paper has no give,
but now it’s all I have.