Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Finding our feet

These long and awful days at the plant are protracting still.
9 pm and I am just about done for the day.

Me, my mild OCD and my wife - we live without complaints in our 900 square foot flat that smells of incense
and earthy, vegetarian fare on most days.
Neat, tidy.

"I'm home."
A tall glass of orange-y Tang.
A few moments of unfamiliar silence while you nervously flit from room to room.

You gesture me to follow while I relive a strange anecdote starring my boss.
You are discreet as you arrange strewn-about things the particular way I wish them to be - distracting me with animated facial expressions for every twist in the tale I'm telling you.

I'm careful not to let my eyes follow your hands and what it is they are doing.
You're encouraged; you know your diversions are working.

You smooth out the sheets and fold our blanket when it's your turn to engage me in a wide-eyed narration of the day's events.

The items of clothing that hang suicidally from your shoulder tell me you've just picked 'em up off the floor and other places. Into the machine they go - out of sight and mind.

You're relieved when you look at me - you're beaming.
How well you know me, darling.
Yes, absolutely nothing is out of place to tick me off today.
Not a thing to point out to you... yet I notice...

The blades of every ceiling fan in the house,
presently spinning to a halt, in concert,
even as I nod away, at your exploits in the supermarket.

Empty bottles stashed by the water purifier.
All emptied out, then left unattended
till mere moments ago.

Flyaway paper bits, scribbled notes, print-outs
- your academic pursuits -
peeking from underneath today's daily.

Two turkey towels shoved hastily,
still damp from your late shower,
into the guest room cupboard.

How well I know you, my beloved.
You are disarray, come alive.
You are chaos, in the flesh.
Yet you are the yin to my yang and you're making me better.
And how I thank you, for trying so sincerely.
So tirelessly.

I'll fill these eight empty bottles and continue talking... dissolve that guilt on your face with more accounts of my coworkers... dissolve some of my own, while at it.
I'll leave your notes untouched, like I never saw them.
As for your towels, I hope you will find a less weird hiding place next time.


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