Makeshift

There’s a beginning, middle, and end, not necessarily in that order. As good as prayer, this failed rehearsal. Less an art than a reflex, the details reflexive. Escapes planned out of houses now forgotten, features scrubbed from their faces, memories wrung dry for relief or theatrics. Slamming a door or easing it shut. Calling a cab to another city. Unseen by anyone, worth less than a story, less even than regret. It’s unclear what comes next. For better or worse something happens. For better or worse I get what I want or exactly what I need. A voice, a familiar weight in the bed, the moment after waking before words are needed. Sometimes, nothing. Summer returns. Spring onions we forgot in the fridge have begun to sprout. I deliberate in dreams, decipher dark matter, what force keeps us from collapsing into one also prevents us from falling apart. Is love a great equalizer or is loneliness. I find myself without leverage. The downside is I know I’ll survive. Is love an act of decoding. My mother says women must adjust. I’ve learned to read the cues, memorize the room’s vocabulary. I bite my nails to bide my time. Or maybe I’ve simply lost my flair. Worst case scenario I’ll wear blush and won’t shed a tear, debating which past life I’ll wear, slipping it on without resistance. Tomorrow is a door. There’s a beginning, middle, and end. This could be me or my mother. This could be me or my sister. The story needs no words. The downside is I’ll milk it for all it’s worth. In case of emergency, what can I live to lose? I’ve survived on mantra. I can talk myself alive. The downside is I have options. Does one grow out of or into shame, and what happens to its shape. I’m miscalculating my rapture or waiting for a glow-up to make it all worth it. After 25 years of marriage, my father chose to leave everything behind. A beginning is an end. You should know by now I prefer a clean break. There was a time I’d resist kicking and screaming. Somewhere in the middle, I imagine this all makes sense. Sunlight sneaks past the drapes, let me see your face.