Yesterday, I spent the day sleeping away my life. It was peaceful, the blankets all clustered near the back porch door, and all the doors and windows on the first floor were left wide open. The sounds of wind and wind chimes, birds calling, the scent of trees, came and went. All that was locked was the front door, as if that could keep someone from entering, as if that could keep my sleeping form from leaving, the groggy and misshapen state it would take, a black frame, a silhouette, against the sky and all that green. Most of the flowers my mother planted have lost their petals but continue in their strong green bodies, the wide leaves still calling for water. I feed them when I can, when the watering can is not too much for the smaller form inside me to carry, her kicking somehow always saying stay inside, do not move, do not lift anything, sleep. And so I do, and the summer is passing.
August 16, 2014, MLT