nobody notices
what they don’t want to see
and the feelings well up
threatening to spill messily

a lot of feelings at my edges
are awaiting safe places
like an Italian abbey
or a grotto with lots of cheese

I will eat a salad and lay down,
willfully avoiding prayers of death
feeling all aches that come on Tuesdays

there is little hope but
Wednesdays are unpredictable;
I will imagine us nestled in the hills