Lys Lily Wild

There is a list.

There’s a list. On a crinkled white page, set on a clip board on the old dresser in the kitchen. My list. One of them. My life is set against lists now. Lists of friends on online groups cheering me on. Lists of food I can have and one’s I can’t. Lists of phone calls, appointments, schedules in diaries, pockets, purses. Sometimes I wake at night and wonder if I’ve forgotten to add the right thing to one of them. Have I forgotten a list, somewhere? Does it need my tending? The kind of tending my old life used to have but now is buried under the changes, under the pages.