Especially Hard

(text & audio)

Sometimes mornings are especially hard
Sometimes they aren’t. Just cereal,
Horace Silver on the Bang & Olufsen, 
all openable windows open. Not sure 
about the chemical breeze; we take 
what we can get here in Skagen. 
What I like best are the bright yellow 
houses and sea-blistered streets,
the shop doors jingling as curiosity
kills each cat in turn. Sometimes midday
crushes my soul with its reminders 
of meeting her for lunch at diners
like Jakobs or Café Knuth’s. Brutal, these
black limbed trees lining the causeway
leading back home, late afternoon.
Evenings can be especially hard, I guess,
with their prows pointed west, where
the dying is brightest and goes down
to one last point. We try to watch TV.
Stay afloat, says the wizened creep.
One day at a time, cry the dumb fiends.
Sometimes—often—still being alive 
is what’s hard, in this variegated
and technicolor cityscape without her.