ethereality

The last two vacations I took did not refresh me one bit. In fact, they made me want to never work again. I don’t say this directly to the universe unless I add more detail. When I see myself reflected in windows I look like someone’s mom and then I remember: I am someone’s mom. My practice is to look for shadows and record their impermanence. To float for hours: that’s my dream. In the dream the other night I was opening a tall filing cabinet and removing every single file, arranging them into a large stack. As I bob I internalize: the way the palm fronds grow golden hairs at their ends and how they shimmer tasseled in the wind. Small yellow butterflies bounce and tiny hummingbirds quiver. Do they know it’s 111 degrees. I’m just a visitor floating through. The 4pm nap to rest eyes sore from a water gun fight. I concluded a six season tv show that in the end featured scenes of torture and grief. I brought every goddamn magazine I’ve collected in the past year, drove them a hundred miles east and read half of two. You won’t catch me eating seafood in the desert. My dog lost in a white comforter. Admiring the beauty of this child on the verge of becoming something else. Wavy reflections in turquoise. Unruly silver hairs and rich brown ringlets stiffened from the lightly chlorinated water. Bearing the heat, splayed to the sun. Emptying my head of what it is I have to do, am here to do. If I had a pool of water to float in every day my mental health would be transformed. My hand grasping a Mythos. Studying the shadows until the sun dips behind the mountain. Who’s up in those trees I can see from here? In my next life, I’m an inflatable pool toy.