My Exhaustion

My exhaustion 

looks like bending over 

in the rain on a warm spring day

Picking up cigarette butts

from the fall, before the snow fell,

when he was still alive.

Lucky strikes. 

It’s like hearing an old song

that you used to love,

and finding socks that aren’t yours

in the dryer

just returned to the drawer, never to be worn

with the same feet.

It looks like finishing up a jar of peach honey

that was a gift.

It looks like I had adhd

and couldn’t take the trash out. 

I was wondering what in the masochistic hell 

was wrong with me,

while he just nodded about it and said

he would have used the porch to smoke,

but he couldn’t open the door. 

When spring came, and old test

with the cardboard remains of the last box of trash bags on the porch.

He bought them and said,

“If you go through these in three months, you’ve been here too long” 

I was going to get out. 

The trash bags lasted until December.

I thought about telling him when I used that last one

and that the porch was almost clean

but I didn’t.

Instead we argued about a painting

another gift

that ended up being a duplicate.

I said “no”, he said “yes”

Then he died, and now I have two.

I’m still here. 

Staying in motion,

wearing the socks,

taking the trash out,

eating the honey,

admiring the paintings.

I am so tired.