via Daily Prompt: Mistake

Mistake?  My whole life is a mistake.  My mind my thoughts my hands feet hair and face.

I am my own black hole hurtling coming being existing in the nothingness that is my space.

I sit here in my Japanese robe at my desk in my room littered with papers books bills old magazines and a poem tacked on to the wall that you wrote decades ago.

It’s signed Love, John.  It should be signed Love, Maybe or Love Kinda Sorta

I was supposed to clean the house today, write on my blog today, start the first page of my novel today  look at the dozens of unpublished poems today.

I was supposed to not go in the garden today because it finally rained today and everything is glossy green shiny today. It was a beautiful grey day and much can get done on a grey day inside.   But, the sun has just come out and the garden calls but going out now would be a big mistake.

So I shut all the blinds and I sit here in the somewhat dark feeling lazy feeling tired feeling half eaten like a moth.

It’s harder and harder to get going and to remember why you should get going for what and for whom.

I could get dressed and start doing something.   Rick’s mom an 89 year old woman who died recently with all her wits about her was a wise woman.   She always told Rick that the first thing you should do in the morning is get dressed.   Just get dressed whatever it is.  Tea shirt jeans skirt tie shirt pants or dress.  For God’s sake just get dressed, the rest will follow.

I never get dressed right away anymore.  I go out disheveled, makeup less, underwearless, lipstickless, shoeless, I go out  in my loose opened Japanese robe and I walk around the front and the back of the garden and look at the grasses, the zinnias, the anemones, the Nicotiana and all the other nameless flowers.    A dog walker or jogger or mailman or UPS person or neighbor comes out and I run like a rabbit back down the long driveway to hide.

Mistake Mistake Mistake

My whole life is one big rotten mistake.  Anna once said she could be Oprah Winfrey’s only guest for a year and there was enough garbage in her life for a thousand trucks to haul away.

Mistake Mistake Mistake

The only thing that is not a mistake is a garden and all its flowers and trees and shrubs and the smell of watermelon after the rain.

Or yesterday, coming home  after the reception at the gallery featuring artists’ visions on the 25th anniversary of the Independence of Ukraine.  I loved the one artist who was dressed in sheer fabrics that clung to her wispy body like silk tattoos.  Her grey tight bun and weird shoes.  Why do artists always wear weird shoes?

In the parking lot on the way to the car I saw a rat and then another. Two big rats and a third.  Rats!  Rats!   Rats!   In Ukrainian Village, recently voted one of the hottest neighborhoods in America. ” Rats!”  I screamed.  You pretended you didn’t even hear me you are so enamored of this hot and urban neighborhood.

You drove me home to my safe serene green dark night “suburb” as you always say.  I got out of the car and smelled the dark soft night and saw  about a thousand white stars lit up like candles and smelled jasmine and vanilla and a scent five thousand years away.

Mistake Mistake Mistake

I am my own black hole hurtling whirling swirling in the quicksand of my rotten life and its rotten stupid filthy mistakes…… but for one minute last night stepping out in the garden and smelling the white flowers in the dark I realize that some things are not

Mistakes…..