I don’t think …

that I want you coming here. Not right now. Not in the cooler September air.

Thanks for the offer but nothing feels happy or healthy about it at all.

If you want or need to see me, I’ll come to you. Make a reasonable plan. Say the word.

I have dependable 25 mpg transportation now, obtained legitimately all by my own hand

so I can rationally entertain such proposals.

***

I refuse to be forced to think about someone condemning my house. Bob was paranoid nuts. Who is supposed to be the one to inform the condemners now? You? Your husband?

I know all about the way of life that is tangled up in such fear, and endless paralyzing circular questions.

It’s not who I choose to be now, and that is damn sure my choice.

Today I make the Flag run to perfect that dependability, and somehow I will pay for that much myself.

Forget Durango and the Clayton Homes that isn’t there.

Here on the page I release the steam I’ve generated inside myself all on my own foolishly

by thinking too much about the glittering promise of something for nothing.

Letting go, letting go, letting go.