Passage(nothing happens)

Sometimes nothing happens.


Life is filled with promises kept, made, broken, and sorted like marbles. I don’t remember repairing my car when I was twenty, but it was the most important thing in my life that day, that week.

Sometimes nothing happens.

A promise can turn to babble, then dust. Around us life germinates, sprouts blooms, withers and decays with boldness and dignity. We lose our faith after one phone call; Eternity can be painful when it gets personal. I owe money, I am in a jam, I have secrets, I am far from unique. My father is old, and he worries about my unemployment. He thinks I think too much about myself.

Sometimes nothing happens.

I look around in a dream, a babbling fool. Would I know I was here? At our deepest source are we just schoolchildren naked at the surprise test? We fall, we fly and when I awaken, I have cut my finger. The auto needs gas to go to the store for bandages and antiseptic, and I am careful when I bathe.

Sometimes nothing happens.

I am not supposed to be a man, but I have his body. I have to play along although it is a strain. It is hard to explain, and I am tired of the shouting; I want to put on a long dress and walk on the beach, but duty calls. 

Sometimes nothing happens.

My mother is growing old and drifting away; she tried to be agreeable and we scolded her when she was difficult. Sometimes artists go mad. The tomatoes have bugs and the freezer needs defrosting.

Sometimes nothing happens.

I want you to hold me close. I want you to suck my nipples and tell me I am beautiful. I want to drift off to sleep entwined in your arms. I want to rise before you and make you strong coffee and scrambled eggs.

I am not supposed to be a man, but I have his body.


Sometimes nothing happens.

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