Confessional / Good Grief / Poetry

Mary Takes a Design Class at the Community College

Every Monday night at 11:00 I float home on the interstate. Thinking of you and how the hell will I describe the way I am changing and getting better?

I’m riding this big, rusty rocket through outer space. I’m not safely inside, I’m mounted smack on the rocket’s nose. The stars are exploding around me.

I’m holding a whip. I’m straddling the whole fucking world.

 

How do I say what I’m doing when it’s really so small but the implications are huge? I’m not at home anymore, wilting away.

I’m myself again, only better.

At night when I sleep even my dreams are changing. Disappointing exchanges in my dark high school classroom are transformed. Like an attic dark for thirteen years then I flipped on the light.

My brain is buzzing. I have a crush. I am alive in every way. If you see me coming run for cover. I am off like a shot.

 

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