18. An Inch Of Me
They moved me out in inches. It began with a mushroom trip. Pigtails and the girl, two peas in a pod went out under the stars arm in arm. I saw them seated on a log in the herb garden that he and I had built. I left them to it. I told myself I was being mature. They stayed up, or at least out, all night. I know this because he didn’t come to bed. And the next morning when I saw them in the kitchen, leaves in their hair, ruffled as if they’d slept on grass, there was a smile to them. I cooked and cleaned and fed the dog, pulled weeds, smoked pot. John Lennon taught me how to make lasagne; a…
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