Why So Crazy
Yesterday, in a prose poem
When you got home I told you what a crazy day I had. You asked why it was so crazy and I said I never stopped. What did you do? you asked, not like you doubted me or wanted an accounting but like you were genuinely curious. I named a few things, none of them hard or impressive. Post office, grocery store, answered emails, walked the dog. Nothing even remotely crazy. I made dinner! I said, like that was it, the last straw. Later I asked myself why my day felt so much bigger faster greater than the sum of its plodding parts. Maybe because I contemplated my mortality a few times, then history as continuum, then the nature of existence. Several times I felt in my heart the distance my children have flown. Then the sun’s inevitable progression across the sky, and I forgot all about dinner and had to remind myself again. I was cutting up an avocado for the salad and said Alexa play this song I used to love and I was 15 again and dancing around the kitchen. Right after that you walked in. What a crazy day I had, I told you, because I was still getting back. My head was still spinning.