All Day I Look at Things

All Day I Look at Things

On Thursday at X o’clock, the nice doctor will give her the shot and she’ll go. I plan to be there with her children, the new elders. All day I walk around in thirty-degree heat, my toe rubbing the inside of my leather shoe, reddening. Soon it will bleed. If I were dying Thursday, this might be the last smoke bush I see. Its red hair on fire. And buying ginger ale at the corner store, I stare at the purple $10 bill a long time, Viola Desmond’s f…