Mark Cunningham The 2River View, 8.2 (Winter 2004)

You made it to the laundry, you made it to the envelopes, but you didn’t come close to the peach turnover. The bank statement is fifty cents or fifty dollars off. Always something remains beyond the day’s sum of accomplishments. You remembered to ask about the stamps and the photographs, but you hung up before the flight times. This doesn’t mean the list of places you have to go is endless. Someone puts an ear to your chest and hears only her own pulse. Water, hydrogen, calcium, carbon: a new set of days begins. This doesn’t mean you’ve budged any closer to eternity.