Losing them, fixing them, forgetting to put them in
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The city’s arteries burn. Another day, another Metro fire.
So I wait outside the station, the pavement shimmering
with heat. It’s frustrating, isn’t it, how nothing works
the way it should? I’m trying to take things in stride,
trying to eat different kinds of yogurt and be less angry
at the red lights and pedestrians who always walk too slowly.
The days in D.C. are long and humid, hot as a scorching tunnel,
but I know nothing lasts forever, not even summer.
The world is more confusing without you in it. If you came back
and asked, What’d I miss? I’m not sure where I’d begin.
I think we might have finally ruined the oceans. When we cut open whales,
their stomachs are cornucopias of plastic, a tangle of straws and bags
and fishing line spilling onto the sand. We hardly know what to do
with all the crap we’ve created, but I guess that’s nothing new.
Maybe I’d just tell you, What was bad has gotten worse.
But I’d also want you to know that what was good is still good.
Every spring cherry blossoms explode like piñatas on the sidewalk.
There are a few ripe avocados in the grocery store,
and guacamole is still easy to make. Today I saw a baby rabbit
in the garden, and the back of its head was lousy with ticks.
It made me so grateful for my thumb and forefinger
and their ability to pinch. Imagine knowing exactly what is killing you
and being unable to even grasp it. I thought you’d understand.
Sarah Ebba Hansen