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Tasks

Tasks July 26, 2010

There’s the limb that came down in

the last storm. And the peach tree we

want to transplant. And the furnace needs

to be cleaned. And I promised to water the

plants while you’re gone. And I want to buy

you that necklace I saw you linger with when

I was waiting on the sidewalk. You held it

like it reminded you of the strong part of

your heart. I don’t know where to begin.

I keep staring at the maple bowing to the

October wind, its leaves turning inside out.

I think it’s going to rain. I spread the tasks,

even the ones I want to do, spread them

with my silence like a broom brushing

a puddle off the driveway. Mira is curled

under my desk. I ask her if she wants a task,

the way we ask if she wants a treat. Her tail

thumps in her sleep. More tasks like treats

wait at work. Which keep the world going?

Which keep us from ourselves? I’m

coming to like things as they are.


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