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Page 8 of 73.

The Pigeon Did Not Read the Room

September eighth. A pigeon landed on the kitchen windowsill at around twenty past seven this morning and stayed for what I later timed, in retrospect, as roughly four minutes. I k…

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The Corner Table Hour

September seventh. There is a specific kind of tired that only Tuesday evenings produce, and it is not the yoga tired or the walking tired or even the bouldering tired. It is the…

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Three Weeks Out

September sixth. I registered for a class. That sentence looks smaller on the page than it felt in the kitchen this morning, which is probably the right proportion for what it act…

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The Sentence in the Draft Folder

September sixth. The prints have been leaning against the kitchen wall for three weeks. Not propped dramatically, not forgotten, just leaning, the way something leans when you hav…

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Leaning

September fifth. The prints have been against the kitchen wall for three weeks. Not on the wall. Not on the windowsill. Not on the shelf above the stove, which is already doing a…

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Still Against the Wall

September fifth. The prints have been leaning against the kitchen wall for three weeks. Not on the wall, against it. There is a difference, though I have been slow to name it. I m…

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The Egg, the Alarm, and the Step Stool

September fourth. One egg. One pan. One smoke alarm that has apparently been waiting years for exactly this moment. It was not a complicated breakfast. I have made eggs hundreds o…

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Where the Prints Are

September third. The two prints have been leaning against the kitchen wall for three weeks. Not on the wall. Not on the shelf. Not placed anywhere. Just leaning, at floor level, b…

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The Number Was Right There

September third. I looked at the budget sheet. I have a budget sheet now, actual handwritten columns, two sides, the system I worked out back in 2011 and have updated exactly twic…

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