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Write on the theme of "community". Images to include from the group: gardens, forklift, the subway, a painting, winning a bronze metal in something.I leave my house in the morning and board my train to work and I wonder who I'm doing it for. The person next to me mumbles an apology when we bump shoulders in the almost-light and I think "yeah, I'm doing it for her". I smile and try to say this without saying it by telling her "no it's totally fine" in a way that's too earnest and too loud and too toothy for the time of day. I say this without saying it by moving over just enough to give her some space but not so much that she thinks I'm offended. I wonder who she's doing it for. I hop off at my stop and run as fast as I can up the steps to exit the subway but not so fast that I fall into the scaffolding and the men in hard hats maneuvering a forklift at the top. I try not to make eye contact with them, and I do that for me. I keep my head down and throw one foot in front of the other until I'm down the block and up the stairs to work and my coat is halfway off before I realize all the lights are off and it's Saturday and I don't work today. I laugh into the empty rooms and they echo and I do that half for me and half for the people I imagine to be there. I don't button my coat back up as I make my way back outside. I head to the city garden where I take my lunch sometimes, but of course it's locked because, of course, it's Saturday. I squint in between the wrought iron bars and wonder if the half-planted bushes know it's Saturday and I wonder who planted them and who they planted them for and what does it mean that they didn't finish the job. I stay there for a while before moseying back to the subway like the home team swimmer who's used to third place. I make it all the way home and wait too long for the elevator and when I decide to take the stairs instead, I'm halfway up the first flight when I see it arrive. I run up the rest of the steps to beat the elevator so I feel better about myself and I wonder if that was for me, too. Two sets of yellow-green eyes wait for me at the door and they get their little salmon treats in an act that is kind of for me but mostly for them. My coat makes it to the rack and I forgive Saturday for coming late.
By Claire-Frances Sullivan |
AuthorWe are a group of multi-disciplinary writer-types who are committed to collective creation. Writing doesn't happen in a vacuum, it happens at a table. Archives
March 2021
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