Tuesday: The nonsense we think.

She has those blue green eyes of a child born near the sea. Her nose red from the sun, her freckles glowing. She is lovely and sweet and you want to kiss her salty lips. Walking bare foot on the uncut grass where the chickens graze aimlessly while the dogs lie like lords and bark at scooters. Really this is all there is, and not much else. Everything else is just spaces between. They say the monsoon came yesterday while she watched moonlight mile. The way the ‘almost not’ widow touched the girl in the post room, the longing and aching for that extra forty percent. Outside the storm raged and still the boys played volley ball. An older woman talks about the flowers with their Latin names and I promise myself there will be a time when I know them too and have worn hands like hers from turning the soil.