Before I was fired, I nearly completed the empathy training workshop. It wasn’t so bad, especially since I came out swinging. Now, whenever you call, I pretend that I can’t hear you. It’s like a law of physics, the conservation of energy. Last night, I noticed the grass was black and silent in the moonless dark, but the trees were listening, so I went to bed. At first, I slept calmly, like a placid swimming pool poised under a pitch-black sky. Later, I woke up like a parachute that failed to open. Since Bobbi Rae asked me, What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done to someone that you don’t regret? I’ve worn my typical Rorschach face. Of course, I’d prefer to wander around like a lazy sentence well-enunciated, but in this deadly weather, what I choose to confess depends on the geometry of the clouds. If you’re careful, the future perpetually awaits. Go to it now, like a contrite pilgrim. It calls out to the weary traveler, I’m sorry, this won’t happen again.
Appears at Right Hand Pointing (No. 119) February, 2018