Perfunctory​​

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The way we start is always the same. Hello,
Hello. Your hand, your name. So great, all’s fine,
and so long at the end. That’s every story we know,

and why playact? But eggs tomorrow? Yes?
No? Shoe shopping, Netflix, dinner at nine?
The way we start is prescribed, sound, Hello,

and then it’s Saturday, comics, crosswords, a low
key day indoors, brunch with white wine
and so long. In the end, this is the story we know

too well we don’t shut the book, or see below
the image, or follow the words to the next line:
the way we start is always the same Hello.

Then one dusk, from the old gazebo, rain
starts to tangle your hair, and bead on your spine.
So long is the end of every story we know

that dusk, and we stumble, stub our toe,
we clutch each other against that slipshod sign
of the way we all start and end. Hello,
So long is the only story. We know, we know.

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By Grace Lynn

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Grace Lynn is an emerging painter who lives with a chronic illness. Her work explores the intersections between faith, the natural world, art and the body. In her spare time, Grace enjoys listening to Bob Dylan, reading suspense novels and investigating absurd angles of art history.