Bradley K Meyer

Vodka shots and cereal with 2% milk

I spend a month reading War & Peace. I do nothing else, am engaged by cannon fire and unsettled by lack of will. None of us acts independently of the circumstances that precede us, says Tolstoy. In two months, I can’t even remember the names of the main characters. Snow outside. I try to have breakfast. Borodin’s one short opera is on the radio. The news is on my computer on the table. I misread ‘standstill’ as ‘sandstill’ and imagine an animal hiding things in the riverbank, a garage door opener, a vial of perfume- the water is there, ready to put everything into its mouth and swallow it. Drift past. Brush pine needles from the snow, from your clothes. I am now at the edge, the very edge, of the table eating breakfast. What do I care if I don’t remember the names of characters? Thinning is more sympathetic to me than nothing. Sighs of window light, filling the room. The bird feeder is empty. I take a cup of seeds from the bag and refill it. Filling is the proof of forward movement. That is really the point. It’s okay to forget. Not everyone wants to be here with you.

Bradley K Meyer writes from Tbilisi, Georgia. His work has appeared in ecomP, Biscuit Hill, Right Hand Pointing and others. He teaches English.