Poetry: Today Tastes Different

By COURTNEY ROSS / Contributing Writer


I eat microwave popcorn* later than I should

because I’m thinking thoughts that I shouldn’t.*

Anything could happen, but it so rarely does.

Maybe if I stuff* so much in

the other stuff will find a way out.

If I choked* on this bite

no one would ever know.

They’d find me* days later on the floor.

They’d find my messy journal,

“Thank God! Some clues!”

But they’d thumb through the pages

and not be able to read* anything.

My current thoughts are wasted evidence,

no evidence of substance.

Would my work be better* if I spent less time

trying to make it better?


Give me all the computer passwords

of everyone I’ve ever loved.

Just in case*

I have to plead their case.

I need their words if they pass on,

their pastwords.

They can’t be imprisoned in forgotten folders.

I have to be responsible* for more than my own ideas.

Whatever they are.

Whoever I am.

You’d never* know this

(unless you were able to read my handwriting), but

I want to be so good at roller-skating*

that my feet forever feel like wheels

and falling never occurs to me

because I’m flying* more than fearing.

This life isn’t easier* yet.

All I have is my hard chair and my soft belly,

but there’s love inside me snuggling up next to Orville.

I’ll keep consuming* everything I can,

digesting it all piece by piece.


I’m tired

of sitting in empty, lonely rooms

and feeling just like them.

I’m awakened

when I realize there’s room

for change.

I don’t choke and I leave better clues behind.

* = I shove a handful of popcorn in my eager mouth, trying to satisfy my eager mind.


Courtney Ross is a senior in the College of Motion Picture Arts and a misplaced Illinoisan who still doesn’t understand Florida.

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