There is a bottle of turmeric on the table
Next to two small yellow gourds
Lying next to each other by the green glass vase
That is 2/3s full of murky water.
There are yellow flowers in the vase,
Old ones (wilted)
And fresh ones with longer stems
That lean out over a stack of junk mail
And a bunched up green napkin
That is one of a dozen
That my brother and his wife
Gave us for Christmas last year.
I am typing this on my old Apple computer
With the screen leaning against a crystal candle holder.
We light the beeswax candle at dinner
If we remember to.
Ayla is hiding among the plants by the sliding door.
She had surgery on her teeth yesterday
And has been acting skitterish
Ever since we brought her home.
Yesterday I wrote to a friend who would understand,
"Sometimes I hate the United States.
It shits on everything I hold sacred."
I wasn't angry when I wrote it.
I wasn't sad either.
I didn't feel anything.
It was just something I needed to do
Like taking out the compost.
