By ALLIE BEENE, March 21, 2022
there is a magnificent speck, a dot
of dust or grime smeared behind the fog
coating my cork-stoppered test-tube of a soul.
I’m nearsighted – I can
only make it out with my glasses on
(while also squinting, of course).
he speaks to me of
doubt, consequence, inevitability.
sometimes, I listen.
tonight, he taps my shoulder:
“you’ll miss their smile
someday. for now,
tell them thank you.”