Feb 2, 2005

When i get home from work

i sit in the car and let the engine run when i get home from work

so i can breathe again

before easily letting go of the ignition,
sighing as the car dies,

having heard the cries of the kids splashing in the pool,
i realize i have not yet sloughed off the ink of my nine to five,
not yet ready to slip into this domestic ilk,
so i breathe again,
feeling the in-between-different-things feeling,
the uncomfortable transition from work to home:
the unique expectations,
the feeling that I still have not yet left, that i am somewhere else and part of me has run ahead of myself,
stuck somewhere on the corner of eighth and palmer,

unable to make a distinction between human resources
and the simple question of do you love me or not
can you help me with my homework
can you talk to me about this
can we talk about this
worrying about if the silence emitting from the backyard
is one of my kids drowning in the newly chlorined pool
or if mark, who is making supper for us all
really needs my help or his own space

so i breathe again,
letting greg catch up from his jog around the block,
his dress shoes and socks on top of the kitchen table;
the concentric circles of reality: the kids are inside, dry and
by the time the scrambled eggs and jambalaya are done on the front burners I can reset the clock, expectantly

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