I’ve fought these (imaginary) chains for as long as I’ve had my teeth.

But they are still very heavy, they are still very insistent. Very chatty chains.

Like my son now does, I tore off my shoes and socks and invited the bees, the glass.

Now his feet get cold and I wonder if it’s right to make sure they don’t.

It is February after all. It is New England.

I like socks, too.

I just don’t know when I started to depend on them.

There was a motto I used to live by:

“Boots must be taken off every day.”

Beckett I think.

I don’t have to tell myself that anymore.

I keep cracking the window because I feel unwell inside.

All those that once understood are far away or gone.

My hands are too clean.

I keep waiting for my pants to tear, so that I can patch them.

And they will.

And then I will teach you how to sew.

 

 

 

 

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