A notification on my phone
The light beeps into the air around my face
Just particles into the atmosphere
offering a scratch-off lottery ticket.
I think to myself, giddy, of new friends,
the coin releasing its metallic aura between eager and warm thumb and
forefinger. Shards of plastic or foil or whatever it is
sweeping into the air like dust.
It is instead a notification that encourages me to check in on old friends
to ask the internet what they’re up to
instead of asking them directly.
A pang of loss.
A twinge of what life could be.
A whisper of mortality for us all, I think dramatically,
imagining my hand, daintily draped across my forehead in a swoon
of sorts. A petticoat keeping my feet from piercing through the floor
and dragging me to hell.
But my blitheness is playing hide and seek with the weight
that we can’t be and do everything
and that some of us will be happier...?
As I type the phrase I’m not so sure I’m as hurt by the taunting of what no one can really have.
But I am not consoled.
I think of the times when I gave what felt
like so much
with very little to give.
It wasn’t that much really
it was all that I could manage.
Now I have more to give and I expect people to meet me where I’m at
I imagine myself halfway across a field yelling straight into the wind with pointed hope
that might just come back to me if I yell what is really in my soul
but I don’t know how to embed a compass into that sonic wave
Breathe ink onto the paper and watch its intentional lines unfurl with a clear message
Tie the paper note around a carrier pigeon's ankle like some wise enchantress
release it with controlled, unshaking arms and believe that it will come back to me
Wherever I am.
But it's never clear where that is.
Where I am, that is.
I’m suspended in a fog where I need things I do not know
and where sometimes even the act of knowing is beyond me.
Maybe it’s not a fog
Maybe it’s a relentless cumulonimbus blanket
Like I’m a plane slowly hovering and ever so slowly rising
How can I be going 714 miles per hour but be so slow,
frozen wisps hanging onto me like a pale and flavorless cotton candy vibrating with the sun.
Why can’t I get to the light beyond the cloud blanket
beyond my phone’s happiness virtue signaling
beyond, even, the light dancing on my partner’s blanketed form
shining with a subdued joy
velveteen and breezy
belonging to itself
I want to become that.