Devonne Brown

“How are you?” she asked. That’s always a loaded question. Who asks it gets a different version of the truth of it. The answer is most usually the first lie of the day. “Fine.”

I’m scared. I’m worried for my life. I am worried for my son’s life. He’s working on his master’s in grad school from my dining room table now. The dishwasher’s broken. I’m sixty-five and work is hard. I want to move to Canada and be a background actor in the movies. I want to be loved and acknowledged that I’m important to somebody. I’m tired of taking care of everything myself, and I want some of my writing to be published. O yeah…and the book that I worked on, that I wrote, that the publisher was interested in…I want to hear from them and hear them say that Yay…it’s great, all systems go. Let’s have a wine and cheese launch party. Dress up and call your friends.

 I guess I’m selfish and pissed off and all kinds of things. Mostly I’m shallow. I don’t want to dig deep right now. I have a warm cat on my lap who reads my words as I type and that’s comforting. I enjoy being comforted. He just moved. 

My life is too cluttered. I am a maximalist at the moment and I need to pare it down. To fix more things. I don’t want to spend money on desperately needed repairs. I did a good thing though, I put up a privacy panel so my neighbors can’t see my West Virginia junked up porch. I had to clear out a storage building and there were some things I couldn’t bear to throw away that ended up on my back porch or in my laundry room.  

My backyard is a leaf basket with a fence, ruffled by fallen logs. It looks terrible. Everything I’ve touched has turned to shit and I am overwhelmed. 

I want to plant wildflowers. In the spring, I want wildflowers to bloom where the leaves have settled. I have a pound of West Virginia wildflower seeds to plant, so I’m optimistic, but still overwhelmed. I don’t know where to start. 

The dishwasher, the fence, the leaves, the laundry room, the back porch…I have to go to work.  I need some help.

 I’m fine.