An Inventory of Benevolent Butterflies
Sometimes in the morning I remember thinking: it is the sorrow of leaving a place you’re not done loving yet. In the afternoon the satisfaction of the mophead’s gray overlapping circles across the floor as you advanced down a
In the morning, memories arise of leaving a place one still loves. An afternoon brings the satisfaction of a mophead's gray circles on the floor while advancing through a corridor of distress. On the way to the corner store, barking at a businessman in a flannel suit and brown fedora is met with irritation. The prissy woman with a fascinator resembling a small scarlet bird is frantic to avoid eye contact.
Sister Superior Nightmare and Sister Hands On Fire are recalled, along with the uncomplicated happiness of watching them recoil. Doubts arise about the accuracy of weather forecasters. Reflections on the day a mother died and weightlessness during a job well done are pondered. The unqualified wellbeing of a hospital kitchen, extracting plates and loading them into a dishwasher, are noted.
The memory of a touch from Whillie Schloeder brings a sense of forgetting. The lasting impact of his loving hopelessness is acknowledged. A kiss is likened to a bloodless bite. The memory of Harry, with his long neck and vegetal ears, adding up purchases at the corner store is recalled. Harry's presence brings a sense of gratitude, as he gives a dollar and change for a grocery list.
The weather report is criticized for its inaccuracies. The struggle of fitting into tight skins is questioned. Doubts about the accuracy of the weatherman are raised, leading to a realization that everything else will fall into place if the answer to the question "What is the weather like?" is found.
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