- Potential mounded in a metal box, waiting for its next assignment.
- I don’t want to but I do want to but I don’t but I do it anyway.
- Missed connections.
- I carry it to the store with me. No matter how much I remind my soul of what’s true (and what’s not), it sticks to me, heavy and thick, slowing my steps.
- I’m sorry I hurt your feelings when I said you couldn’t play with the life-sized dead toddler with the cut-up face in the Halloween aisle. It hurt my feelings first.
- We talk about the fourth trimester, new challenges, old ones, holiday plans. I trip over myself when she says she’ll miss me when we leave; I never know what to say.
- It’s her first accident in months. I dry her off, change her clothes, hold her, reassure her she’s not in trouble. The worry in her eyes drains away slowly. Too slowly. I soak it up with a dishcloth as I clean the floor.
- Maybe a shower will help.
- The yeast is dead. Because of course it is.
- His mercies are new every morning.
Of old triggers, not knowing what to say, and putting hope in tomorrow.