What Did You Expect

The sky is blue.
What did you expect?
The bus is full.
What did you expect?
I am going to work.
What did you expect?
My patience for this is taxed, hexed, and vexed.

The sweat popped out the pores on her forehead. She furrowed her brow, an involuntary reflex that had presented in her father and her father’s father. How far back into the shadowy reach of genealogical history does it go?

How did you expect to find your people after swallowing maternal distaste for the geological circumference of familial location? Years lost before you trace your way back with a flashlight.

What, dear girl, what did you expect of this world whose job is simply to spin on angle, to orbit, and try to shake you off like a flea off the back of a pack mule. Off with you and your petty irritations with the discomforts of your host’s provisions, bloodsucker.
What did you expect of your poor mother who felt malnourished? The banquet table was set elsewhere, her poor breasts hung empty. And who did yours ever feed, you of great expectations in the promise of a new day?

Please, we await you. How may we provide all you need with your open hands waiting to receive, but you with your requirements.You are the ungrateful poor.

When she looked up
the sky was blue
yet clouds obscured it.
The air was breathable
though not undamaged.
The bus was full,
but on time.
Expectation be damned.


When she stopped planning for tomorrow (outfit, lunch, schedule) and cleaning the dishes and spinning in circles, when she paused to close her eyes, to catch her breath and focus inward the way certain spiritual practices advise, all of her attention went to a tiny area of density in the middle of her head. Although she had never had a tactile relationship with her brain (or any other brain), it was like she could feel this one part of hers.

This tiny spot threatened to pull the rest of her in like a black hole would do. She wondered if she stayed in the meditative state long enough, would it actually would pull her in or if it would even stop there. Would it also compel the dog, the cats, the couch to its darkness? Was the neighborhood safe when you came right to it?
The width of a hair, the length of a hangnail, the depth of a belly button, it was the tiniest of tumors tucked neatly at the apex of two lobes. It was a magnificent force, despite its slight stature. A ball bearing released from a tall building  that drops through an unsuspecting skull like a coin tossed into a fountain, a wish, a secret, a ripple to which no one pays any mind.