I no longer have the will
for my arm to struggle
in search of a jacket sleeve.
instead, I will hold a sweatshirt
over my head and gently pull
allowing the fleece-lined cloth
to linger over my shoulders
then cover me.
my hair will get tussled but I do not mind,
that is easy mess.
it is the difficult messiness
I cannot take anymore.
the betrayals.
the ghosting.
the abandoning.
I no longer have a bandwidth
for the stories that numb me more than
the evening news with its litany of tragedies and mistreatments.

I can easily survive these days
on Rom-Coms and Bravo TV.
give me a slice of lightly toasted rye bread
and one sunny-side up egg
with the yolk dripping over the toast
and a very cold glass of spring water,
then I am good.
I do not require an elaborate tasting menu
any longer,
I am plenty full.

Please, I implore you
do not sign up with me
or promise me anything
you don’t intend to deliver on
with all of your heart and soul until breath leaves your body
because I cannot take the disappointment.

I am in the stage of abiding in the simplicity of sunrises and sunsets,
the blooming roses greeting me in my garden each morning, and
my little white dog barking at strangers.
I am in the mood for
reliability.
reciprocity.
and, daily rhythms.
I want to count on things,
even if that winds up only to be me.

Linda Joy Walder