Night and Day

Spring weather is night and day

Whether or not it's April or May.

Slow waking

Crisp air. Drunken lilacs.

I tie my hood

Thrust out my chin so it doesn't fall back.

Why has this not occurred to me before?

I can't figure out how to dress for my dog.

At work I receive more compliments about my clothes

than ever before.

No rhyme nor reason to choices.

No rhyme nor reason to “right” and “wrong”.

No rhyme nor reason to the place that requires the clothes.

Just change.

But not the clothes.

Change.

What’s underneath.

Night and day.

Underneath those layered threads

An audio book plucks at strings running through my chest.

The Night Diary.

Five discs in a purple case.

By Veera Hiranandani.

I listen day and night.

Driving to work.

Driving to work out.

One disc ends.

Almost at the end

Of the story.

Eject. A triangle button.

On the dash dusted in paw prints.

A whirring sound, like blades

They cut.

Whispers. Warbles.

They’re soon covered

By a flash forward song.

But time makes you bolder Even children get older And I'm getting older, too

An adult looking back

Instead of a child guessing forward

Both asleep.

Border. Torn. Walls. Counting. Family.

The spell of music and words breaks

My thumb scans.

The radio disappoints.

I speed ahead through the light

So cars behind aren't angered by my indecision.

In the parking lot,

I pluck a white hair

From a dark skirt.

Though I don’t care much if it stays.

Night and day

Makes no difference.

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