Water is boiling on the stove. It will
turn a bag into tea. It will
make oats into a meal.

I will eat convincingly.

I wanted to get up early today
maybe write down a
dream. But I overslept and
Mom called at 10 to talk
about things I don't like to talk about.
Like me.
When do you want your party?
I don't know.
Do you need anything?
Yes.
What?
I don't know.
How are you?
I don't know.
Your grandmother would be proud.
I know.

In 21 years hasn't she learned?
I don't like speaking in the morning,
I'll have a tea or some oat meal but A.M.
is for thinking.

So, I have another 10
or 15
minutes in my room
to hide from the world
but the world
won't hide from me.

The rain is slapping the hell out of
my window like a dame in a black and white movie.

The rain pushes. It wants in.
It knows it's dry in here.

And some kids run up the stairs
and their footsteps sound
like war. The firing of guns. And
people are going to die today.

You can look at things anyway you want
but Grandma is not alone in death.
Today, like yesterday, she'll get companions.
That's how I look at it.

They may not speak her language, if language exists
after death. I look up at the clock, think about
getting up earlier tomorrow. I think about burning
both ends. In the kitchen, water boils. Outside, there
are movies, on stairs there is war and back home
Mom gets ready for work, plans a party and also
thinks about death
no matter what the water does.
Time for tea.

--- Apr. 22, 1999
10.15