life of waiting
I stood in a dark room. I took my clothes off. I dug my breath out of the wall. I waved my hands at the carpet. I listened to the fog. I listened to it go. I put my clothes on. I went outside. The rain damaged me. I walked circles around this neighborhood. And never met a person who died. I went to the dental office. I told the receptionist I had an appointment with someone who died. I told her I brought all my damage from the rain. I sat in the lobby for an hour. And read expired magazines. The receptionist said your mother is at the grocery store if you run quick you'll catch her in the fish or produce section of the grocery store. I ran my damage quick through the rain to catch the grocery store. I walked in circles for an hour. Through the fish department. Through the produce department. A clerk pricing shelves said i see you have damaged yourself in the rain. I just came from the dental office, I told him. I am searching for my mother. Your mother is dead and far away, he told me. You should cross the bridge and study literature in the university stairwell. I crossed the bridge and tried to join the university. I had no cough insurance. They gave me a bright yellow button and told me i could visit the library if i was dusty and invisible. I gathered my rain damage into the library stairwell. There was no literature but the shadows of birds taught me many things in one late morning. I had coupons for one sandwich and a thermos of juice. I sat in the stairwell and ate my sandwich and drank my juice and listened to the birds beat the grey windows. I knew what to do once I was the last person left in my life. I went to the ocean. I stood at the edge and watched the afternoon go pink. My skin went cold. And my lungs, they shrank. I waited. I waited for whatever comes after a life of waiting.