Letter From Alex

The end of February
A garbage truck
Is backing up outside my window

Four years ago
My father died
That's more than a thousand days

Emily is across from me
Her head cocked like a curious dog
She's muttering lines from an upcoming show
Broken into jazz standards
Something about "Baby leaving"
And "Never coming back."

Where are you
In the winter
When I need some camaraderie?

I'm disappointed
About my job
It's definitely not what I envisioned

Emily is staring out the window
The three armed lamp is out one bulb
I hear you are travelling around towns I can't pronounce
You know, I used to live in them!
Now I must get some rest

All the good symptoms of art will always bring some restlessness
In the februaries of my late twenties and, I suppose, my thirties