Saturday July 9, 2016 at Home Baking Co.
When I Am King, Dilly Dilly
I know that you listen to me, blow drying my hair and snacking on tortilla chips. Ear pressed against the wall that separates our rooms, I know that you listen like a sponge, soaking up the cadence of the floor boards creaking under my weight. I don’t know why you quit your job, or even how you’re surviving. I don’t know when I started working from home, only plywood and drywall and paint between us, only the hum of the fan white noising the August air, the sound of the bus revving it’s engine, going too fast, just like you used to do. You’re slower now.