MODERN LIVING
after Eileen Myles
In the spirit
of wakefulness
my neighbors
ride their bikes
after making
brunch, together,
wiping sleep from
each other’s
eyes, the dogs
bark
from their balcony,
their
keys jangle
in the wooden gate
as they leave,
and that is the
sound
of modern living.
I sleep too late,
I hate the morning
as if it broke my
heart once, and
maybe it did, back
when youth tasted
like homemade
ice-cream and walnuts
straight off the
tree, and
I didn’t mind
having arms
wrapped around
me. I spent the
simplest days
I will ever know
wishing life were more
complicated, I used
to talk to the sun, it
used to kiss me and
my shoulders
turned red and
that’s how I learned
about pain, about
being betrayed, about
staying inside to be
safe, I used
to tell people
that’s who
I got my hair from,
like it was family. I
swam
in the ocean for
the
first time and
decided
it was
where the whole
world’s tears went
after they fell from
its cheeks, I tasted
the salt
sticking to
my chin and
hoped they all
had
found out how
to be
happy. I didn’t know
how hard
being happy
could be.
I can see why people
take beach trips
to get away, to forget
their troubles, more
and more,
it seems the
only way to feel
weightless
is to submerge
yourself in other
people, have you ever
felt alone
with the tide
at your feet? my
neighbors
come home, and
their dogs stampede
into their front yard,
just fragments,
disjointed shadows
behind a picket fence,
and my neighbors
return inside
to clean the brunch
plates, to wipe the
sweat from each other’s
eyes, and foreheads,
and maybe he
kisses her neck and
tastes
the sea
for a second, and
he sighs
with relief, and that
is the sound
of modern living.
