Sun is out but doesn’t reach

down warm fingers to the earth,

to inside my shoes, which I found

in a friend’s pile of unwanted

clothes. My toes little popsicles

on the ends of my feet.

 

All around the town the sun

isn’t reaching us today. All of us

with our many shoes, our many

friends, our many toes, our

many selves.

 

But you walk into Fred Meyer

around the corner. You feel pain

in your gut you can’t control. I

get into my car to drive

to the market. I turn the heat

up on my thermostat. I settle in

for the evening, and you go out to catch

a drink with a friend.

 

You and me and he and she and they and we

are different but the same. She is many as she

is one. They is one and also many. We are all

cold today. We at odds with ineffectual sun

today in the town with the people

who are multiple, converging, meeting

touching, joining, connecting and separate.

 

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