Daily footsteps on water (or I ticked my bullet journal today)

I have a pile of New Yorkers

haphazardly splayed on the table

that I have yet to clean

still in their plastic covers.

Some are from last December

It's already this October

and they broadcast a failure

to keep up.

I read what I can

an article a day, maybe two

no small feat when they can run

to 30 closely-written pages.

I have not renewed my subscription

It is too much, too much!

and I have other things to tick off

in my trusty bullet journal

which I cling to

in spite of everything

to let me know that 

I have not allowed the days to pass

like footsteps on water.

Did I read a chapter of the book-du-jour?

Hadot's Spiritual Exercises,

or that biography of Van Gogh 

written in the 1950s?

Have I meditated? 

Learnt a few French words and phrases

on Duolingo?

Listened to Deacon Keith Fournier

recite the Bible readings for the day?

With his distinctive panache

on Catholic Online?

Have I cleaned the kitty litter?

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The one thing 

I don't record

is the hours spent

in front of Netflix 

as my mind atrophies

and I become drooling

and sub-verbal.

(and suddenly it's four in the morning

and I'm working tomorrow!)

Pick myself up

Dust myself up

get back to that list.

start again.

I refuse to be

just another

pandemic casualty.

It's time for Calm 

and Tamara  Levitt's

short meditation of the day.

10 minutes.

I can do 10 minutes

What's so hard about 10 minutes?

Maybe it will rein in

this slow disintegration

and reverse my attrition.

Later for you.

Worthy of Love

Even as you lay 

on the ground

soaked in vodka

or whisky

or wine

or brandy

or whatever

ethanol you had

just picked up

from the shop 

opposite.

Even as you lay 

passed out

in the front of that 

tiny hotel

tiny but decent

except for the drunk 

at its doorstep

Even then you 

felt worthy of love

a person

and not a creature

to be pitied 

or shunned.

You cried out

upon waking

demanding a hearer

demanding affection

demanding all that 

had been promised

You never felt unworthy

even as you lay on the ground, twitching

wretched

but unashamed.

And eventually

you found someone

who was sweet and forgiving

who married you

and lived with you

for a few years

and who eventually

sent you home

in an urn.

But you remained married

until you died

which is what you intended

and all you ever wanted.

And when I looked on you

with such disgust

and contempt

I didn't know 

that you, even you,

in all your brokenness

lying in your own puddle 

of urine and vomit

had something teach me.

I, who have never felt worthy,

no matter what I did,

no matter how I tried,

no matter what I achieved,

of love. 

Goodbye

 I leave you behind

our path diverge

And when 

the white noise

dies down

I'm sure there will be sorrow.

For now, there is only

an awareness, an understanding

that you are a part 

of the past

that is being erased

as I sit here

as I type these words

as we speak

or rather

as we don't speak.

The thundering silence 

between us

has crystallised 

into marble.

Cold, pure, white

Unfeeling.

Unyielding.

Goodbye now.

Please forget me.

I don't think we will meet again.