I have been ill all day and finally
my body and house are quiet. Isn’t
quintessential a quack of a word?
I eat this banana bread my lover made
so to not think about not thinking.
More and more, I dream in the Spanish
of my skeptics. When awake, I
work hard to forgive gods for not
being in my image. When feeling
weak, I smell oranges, as if my mind
is lost in an orchard. A warning?
I peel the day with trembling hands.