Starting Over

 

It could happen

that one day

you will be sitting

in the same place you’ve

sat for years

and realize

that the cushion on the chair

is misshapen

that you have buried yourself

in papers and prioritizing

 

You’ve grown so accustomed

to the tiny acts

of spontaneous combustion

and skittering roaches

that dance in front of you

that you snuff them out

with your bare hand

carrying on

 

Your dreams speak to you

only of deadlines

catastrophes and detailed correspondence

even this you may survive

ritually washing them away with

a deluge of coffee

first thing

 

Then it may come to pass

that you look into the harried face

of someone you love

and dropping your bucket

down deep within your heart

come up with dirt and dry shoots

and see that you

have become a drought