Between a ping and a scroll
I had a moment to myself and
I didn’t know what to do with it
a few minutes of nothing where
no demands had been made of me
nothing was expected, nothing due
and every second was entirely mine
except I didn’t know what to do with it
somewhere between 2006 and 2023
somewhere between a ping and a scroll
I’d forgotten to be bored
(to prod leaves and watch them curl, follow my mother around the kitchen, paint shapes in dust, find people in water stains, count red cars and old cows, trace the origin of a scent, investigate the dull pain of healing bruise, hide for no reason, practice speeches for things I’d never win, admire the gumption of ants, tell crows apart, sing into the whirr of table fans, peel gum off my fingertips like dying skin, press cold stones against my forehead, turn petals into talons, gawp, gape and learn people by their footsteps alone)
somewhere between a ping and a scroll
I’d forgotten to pay attention to the world.
