monday afternoon

burning boxes in the backyard, watching the vehicles of possession dissolve into flame and then ash
nurturing the fire within me
after the summer, with its skinnydipping
sipping coffee, watching the flames and reminiscing
about being naked in the water, engulfed, weightless,
now staring at the ashes floating up, coasting on the heat
emanating from twitching flames rising higher
then relaxing down into embers, orange snakes
glimmering from the edges of burnt cardboard remnants.

keeping the balance.

as i was lamenting the salty water that had ruined my attempt to enjoy coffee this morning,
i began to cry.  i gave into the hormones,
to the threat of failure,
because for a moment i felt only the weight
of what i was not able to do.

but anyone knows that focusing on failure rather than accomplishment is a sure way to welcome depression.

i looked at what i had:
a comfortable, though cold, living room,
the internet,
music,
books,
a room full of clothes, most of which i enjoy wearing, and most of which are clean
a warm bed, heavy with layers of blankets,
pasta in the cupboard, bread in the fridge,
coffee Alicia gave me as a gift last year, that i never made at my mother's because i couldn't enjoy a cup very often with a cigarette,
a cute little bathroom, where all my toiletries have a place and fresh towels only i will use wait patiently in the linen cupboard, beneath all my perfumes, hair products, lotions, medicines, nailpolishes.

these things have no value
but the value of practicality
and possession.
they are mine, and they reside inside a shelter
that is made less lonely with two cats,
that sits by a creek,
above which blue herons swoop and glide
and frogs croak,
and crickets sing.

i am not burdened with obligations outside of my home today,
and for that i should be content.
and miles away a man is smiling thinking of me,
and for that i should be content.
there are several hours left in this day
to enjoy myself
and for that i am happy.