word-poem://mean distance

Distance from the sun, mid-winter, Northern hemisphere

I lie fallow in my seventh decade
91,000 million miles away from an imploding fireball
I see by its light that took 8 minutes to reach my eyes
and has mercifully left me alone
there is still the miracle of breakfast

(two shiny eggs smothered in salsa atop a corn tortilla
pined for in its merry preparation
yet as fleeting as an orgasm)

I sit at the table, knife and fork
grasped firmly in two hands, as I cut myself
into tiny pieces, small enough
for a child to swallow

truly nothing is simple, not at all
not our distance from the sun
nor my distance from my son
memories mark the transience of fullness
I know so little, and knowledge is so costly
I can’t afford to be happy

sadness leaves me smug
I can’t afford to be satisfied, I’m not worthy
I like being alone
that’s all I can say with any certainty

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