Day 818, September 28, 2022

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The Longing Days

It is the season of wearing dogs on one’s lap for warmth. 
It is the time of errant fire alarms in the middle of the night.
It is the time of riding a bicycle home in the dark.

A couple of freestanding turkeys proclaimed
the side of the road as a place to mill about.

I am still wary about reading the news too closely.
Protect one’s self by only consuming headlines
and first paragraphs.

My fortune reads,
Belief is nothing,
believe in something.

Did you know that on the third day,
the remaining chili becomes a sacred thing?

I was expecting a greeting,
something other than a concentrated frown.
But, I will take what I can get.

The joy of sitting beside my son
and hearing him laugh, 
the two day old guacamole,
a little gray all around,
a glass of juice that tastes only a little
like drinking someone’s sweat.

This is what longing
tastes like.



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