Blog,
I have taken time from you. For you.
You who are nothing and you who is everyone I love.
My mom told me she had nightmares about me last night. I wanted to cry.
Last night I dreamt someone I haven't talked to in a long time.
The last time I saw them I was on my bike, we both turned down the same street,
I barely recognized them.
Blog, I am soaking in Minnesota, letting it soak me in.
The first part of the summer has been so warm
the lake is already filling up with algae.
A man at the beach told me May was record hot.
I have been letting myself rest from writing to you, blog;
rest from opening my computer;
rest from responding to emails.
I went to Wisconsin, blog.
It was nice to flicker in and out phone service.
Blog, I admit
I have been mourning my dad's death, threes years ago--what he could have been and what he was.
The times I felt real care and affection.
The times I felt that he shared things with me, ordinary things.
These are ordinary things, blog:
Crying after sex.
Putting your head on someone's lap.
It is nice to lie down, and that can just be that.
It is nice to be present with my mother,
with my friends here,
with the lake,
with the cherry tomatoes I check each morning.
It is nice taking walks to drink coffee, when I wake up.
It is nice sleeping with the window open, waking up to the garbage truck, sprinklers, loud thunder.
It is nice receiving letters, even though I have been writing back slowly.
It was nice going to Costco and an outlet mall.
Blog, I just wanted to write you. I didn't really want to write about anything in particular.
It seems ordinary now
to see the dipper every night, but it still gets me, blog.
It still gets me that I am looking at a portal,
and that one day this planet might be a blip someone sees in a thousand years.
I still remember the first summer I binge watched a tv show.
I am happy to remember something so ordinary.
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