sleepless, 3 a.m. in the living room a silence untouched by the ticking clock and soft rumble of the frig, now living things in this fragile bubble called home partly because of them, I’ve become a homebody and this thick cushioned sofa has become the cradle I curl into and around this other occupant called the time I have left people refuse to leave a longtime residence, not because memories haunt the walls, halls and furniture they want the end to be like the be

I only turned back when I heard it - a honeybee spinning in sidewalk circles, like a car performing donuts but in loops of loud buzzing in the most accidental timing of unintentional innocence, my blind dog stepped on a bee resting on the pavement and with pure luck, it hadn’t stung her oh life, who or what is responsible when bad things happen? are our lives predetermined? what part does karma play? and who should get credit for sudden good fortune? I’m confused

melted and soaking toast, the oil squeezing out with each bite slathered over corn on the cob, my lips and chin a gaudy bliss as I pull away even crackers when scooped with its softened yellow fat I eat with eyes rolled back it’s a guaranteed win when the losses pile up and money I can bank on to fatten my resolve a slippery injection of happiness when it’s not possible to take one more bite out of life