There were stains on his jacket, coffee or wine. They had been there so long he didn’t see them anymore.
“Happy Father’s Day, Dad.” Eve said.
She handed him a bouquet of yellow and red flowers. Sunflowers, zinnias and some carnations.
“Read the card, it’s funny.”
Jack opened the envelope and read it and laughed.
“Yes, you do.” He said remarking on something she had written. It was well after three in the afternoon. He had made himself pancakes and poached eggs in the morning to celebrate, alone.
This used to be a day like his birthday where there was some overture to make him feel loved. But since the marriage had ended, he had to make do on his own.
Eve came through in the end and miracle of miracles also did the dishes.
There is a God.
A pool of shoe fish
swimming around the closet floor.
No one is in control,
it’s absolute anarchy.
The Levy sneakers were a gift.
Jack wore them once
to his uncle’s retirement party.
Felt like he was cheating
on his Chuck Taylors.
He retired them after that.
he picked thirteen fleas
off of the insect.
cute in the extreme,
lunging at the cats,
like they were missiles.
At the laundromat.
And the knuckleschmucks are doing bong hits in the back.
Like, straight up blowing smoke all over the planet.
And Eve just wants to do her laundry.
Who are these anarchist people?
Ok, it’s California, but do we all have to
breathe weed smoke all day long?
Some of us like oxygen.
Eve put the forget-me-nots on the counter.
She put blue water in a vase and the powder,
which she wanted to taste,
but then wondered, “Is it poison?”
Her friend boy was gone for the weekend,
to the Pinnacles.
It was so hot there that his sweat evaporated
and made it rain on the highway.
Forgiveness is really all about
coming to grips with your past.
Stop holding onto what wasn’t.
And finally acknowledging that you can’t change it.
Once you get to that place, it’s so much easier to be merciful.
Eve finally let go of the life that she thought she was owed
and a huge cloud lifted.
Eve was out late and in a hurry to get to work.
She didn’t think about what she was doing.
Just put the fork in her bag and forgot it.
It was her step mother, Ophelia’s, favorite fork.
The only thing she would eat with.
She went hungry without it
and the whole house stopped.
It suddenly dawned on Eve that this guy was a straight up racist.
He made some off hand comment about “Beanos” and
her being Latina, it made her fume.
She texted him,
“Listen, my racist friend, it’s time for this to end.
Don’t never contact me again.”
“That rhymes too.” she thought, hitting send firmly.
It’s funny how children are born fully realized.
They grow from out of focus infants to complete beings.
In a matter of minutes, it seems.
Childhood is just the soil they are planted in.
She’s only three and already something of a scientist.
Using “Actually…” with great finesse.
Explaining birds to a small captive audience.
It’s all a fiction.
The chem trails, the midnights, the turnaround, the memories, the plight.
The magic, the movement, the intervals of resistance, the makeshift, the misbegotten.
All made up.
Eve inhaled a day dream, seeing her illusion clearly before her.
She imagined how she could bend the plot and make the story end well.
“Happy 420 Day!” said Eve with a shit eating grin.
Got her edibles and had plans after work to get her buzz on.
Ruth, her grandmother was appalled.
“You need to talk to that child.”
“And say what?”
“Something. It melts your brain.”
“Sit her down and talk to her before she’s out doing heroin.”