I sat in my garden trying to understand why I didn’t really take care of my garden.
The evening night was rustling and I guiltily remembered I needed to pay my gardener.
White people problems. Latina white lady problem. I should be growing herbs and carrots with my daughter. I’m in between.
I still have those overalls I used to paint with when I was 23. I hear they are coming back in style like the espadrilles my mother used to wear.
Kids are upstairs watching TV in the master bedroom and husband is asleep on our daughters pink bed.
How far away are the coyotes and deer? I see them during the day. They aren’t afraid of the people who live in the hills.
I have to go back in, she isn’t finished with her homework yet and he still needs a bath.
There’s volunteer work I don’t want to do. Soliciting, reminding, marketing, nagging.
Missing the nocturnal wind down. Can’t go back to it as the guilt will creep in.
I’m slow tonight, robotic,. I wont yield anything satsifying so I’ll just swim in my head.
Swim in my garden. At least its useful.