XXXVIII. Eternity Ledger.

I keep the record in pencil,

each entry tentative, smudged.

Debits of faith,

credits of fatigue.

Interest accrues everywhere but here.

Liquidity, they tell me, is freedom,

yet I dissolve at the first touch,

a sugar cube dropped in someone else’s cup.

Hope arrives quarterly,

already booked as loss.

The only credit extended to me

is disappointment,

renewable, inexhaustible.

Recovery comes in variable rates:

slower than the body forgetting,

faster than the silence of friends.

Miscellaneous holds what won’t be named:

grief without receipt,

joy without reimbursement,

the sudden urge to bow in the poultry aisle.

I consolidate regret,

roll it forward year by year.

My assets are few:

a tolerance for discomfort,

a collection of half-smiles,

two reusable bags,

borrowed time.

Balance, they say, is the goal.

Checks and balances.

Cheques and balances.

Checked my balance.

But balance is myth,

marketed to those already on their knees.

So I hedge against kindness,

short-sell expectation,

wait for the audit,

and stack the weight of eggs

against eternity.

For what it’s worth,

-Charlene Iris

One thought at a time.

One truth at a time. 

Because Some Epiphanies stay with you.