Wrightings

  It’s fall; life is dissolving like the rot underfoot in the forest. Fall is dissolution, the dissolution of my brother, my marriage, my home. I fester in my living room, behind my desk, facing the TV and the windows which are blocked by French shutters to keep light and heat out. The air conditioner blows cold air down the back of my neck, keeping my shoulders tense and my body curled into unhealthy positions. Even my feet rest on a bubbled slant rest, to keep me in an unnatural position. Hidden from construction outside, noise collapses in on me. On one side of me, a jackhammer, peeling my pool, and on the other, mini bulldozers claim real estate to create a parking lot. My stomach, mid-back, and head are tight. My body clenches my attention. I’m scared and excited about tomorrow’s meeting.