I comfort myself

I comfort myself in the mornings
When the sun strains through the haze
A sickly yellow against a nectarine sky

As I breathe through the fabric
wrapped loosely over my hair and nose
As I alternate between holding my breath
and breathing quickly

As I listen to soothing music
While feeling the lawnmower engine
Straining and sputtering
Feeling every single bump in the road

As I watch the driver watch me in the mirror
and wait for him to ask,
with a simple hand gesture
or twitch of the head
“keep going?”

As I try not to smell the decay
and the collected refuse of millions
rising from the river in a stench
That makes my stomach roll and that
I will physically remember for the rest of my life

I think
“It’s like the night airs
The ones that people believed killed”
“It’s the ‘yellow fog licking the window panes’
of J Alfred Prufrock”
“It’s Dickensian in its misery”

I think
I am living in the past
In the present.

I am comforted
To be living in History.

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