Mark Cunningham




I put the CD in the player and my daydreams don’t respond: I know the CD’s moment has passed for the moment. I wore my tennis shoes without considering whether it would rain, which means they are no longer new. Last Spring is finally over: I noticed the blossoms on Monday and it wasn’t until Thursday that I thought about checking the pear tree. When the realization that at any time during the day I could call Myra at her receptionist’s job and talk to her for a few minutes no longer surprised me, I knew we were beyond the “early days”. If I think that the last few weeks have been a little flat, that I’ll never tire of apricot cookies with afternoon coffee, I know a new past is forming. I just haven’t caught up to it yet.

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