You tell me about everything—
why you’re here and
how your plan started
what was wrong with your phone and how
you dropped it in the lake
climbing out of the canoe
when you were on a fishing trip with your son
who flew in from school in Seattle
(where he’s studying to be an engineer)
to spend the summer at home before he graduates
plus his grandmother’s health is declining,
so you’re glad to have him home—
you’d go on if I let you,
but I don’t.
You’re life may be an open book,
but that doesn’t mean I want to read it.