LXXIV | Can’t

❦

We leave the glass cube
and hide among the trees

that turn this place
into a garden resort.

'Don't say anything,'
I tell Mr. Ahmad
who's calmly following behind.

'I'm still human.
'I'm not like you or even like Rowan.

'I don't get all of this.

'I'm still
'trying to... understand.'

A car runs like a phantom across the road.

Rowan's hand
is still squished in mine.

I let her go.

Her face is expressionless.

Mr. Ahmad has turned
into an ixora bush.

'You did a good job,'
the ixora bush says,
waving its tail.

I'm surprised.

It's probably the Eeyore speaking,
right?

Rowan's winged donkey
is plodding along
a distance away.

The voice that spoke is
too sly to be Eeyore's.

I look away
from Mr. Ahmad's
glassy
green
eyes.

Sincerity doesn't suit this cat.

I want to crouch
beside the nearest tree.

I'm tired.

A hand on my head.
It's soft.

It's not a cat's paw.

I glance
beside me.

Rowan's reached up
on tiptoe
to bury her fingers
in my hair.

The tips of her ears

are red.

She pulls her hand away
and walks off.

'Let's take a walk.'

I catch up with her
in a few big strides.

'Why you stop?
'That felt nice.
'Pat my head again.'

'No.'

I feel less tired now.

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