Midday Weekend

It’s your first day feeling unemployed. Two and a half years in the past, your grandfather, the Allfather of your family, is gasping and screaming at the six o’clock news, “I can’t contribute,” while his wife and daughter pin him to the hospital bed. Winter swells between your phalanges, beneath your patella.

The awareness of your conditions is the same color. When not trying to be productive, you turn the house upside down looking for the glasses you don’t remember losing over a week ago.

creek ice
meets in the middle
at some point
all memories
splinter

Midday Weekend