4.12 Open Water
My Evening Shift
Words by Sumyrah Khan
Mind-wanderings from a treetop
Sometimes I sit atop a tree, right when the sun brings its synthesis to see things as they are and not as they should be.
Meanders going about their way.
To be forgotten for a while,
And a familiar state resumes
as moments begin to dissociate.
In those gaps I wonder:
Who has time to pace sanctity?
And give myself a few points for trying.
Just then, I overhear the cautionary tales being sung by an old man
as he points up at the sky
but he spots me instead.
It’s nighttime and the birds are back -
time to vacate their space.
They too are done with their shift with strangers for the day.