I’m leaving my mom’s house today. my throat feels like it’s in a vise.
I didn’t do well. I didn’t do all that I could have. I did poorly.

there goes the one my mom calls Charles atlas. he rides his mobility scooter shirtless
to walk his little dog several times a day.

there goes the monk, clearing his throat before starting his morning chants.

things get passed me even though I think I am so vigilant. I’m watching but not always paying attention.
or my attention is weak. it’s the middle of the night in Ca. that’s my excuse for this stupid rambling.

I’m going to see my madrina this morning before I leave, she’s a loving caretaker of my soul but she says harsh things.
there may be tears.
there will be so many tears.

I'm listening

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