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,
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.
of sitting in empty, lonely rooms
and feeling just like them.
when I realize there’s room
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.