All right.
This is called "35th Year."
"Dread remains.
I keep looking for a thing I can't name, though I try,
purpose, meaning, presence.
I circle my worst fear in life, which
is my life, what to do with it, how to shape it, and so on.
It's something like a tiger circling a cage inside a cage
that I circle.
It's a privilege, I know.
Still, I can't land on a five-year plan.
So I return text messages and look for doors
to the laundry room, the basement, the self.
I ask questions I can manage.
How may I be of service?
And questions I can't, why are we here?
Do you think of us as here together?
I try a new city every two to four years,
then complain about a lack of continuity of routes.
Every morning, I stretch out on my foam roller,
make a protein shake, and take a shot of apple cider vinegar
to lower my A1C.
I moisturize, I sip tea.
At night, when my body begs for a range of macronutrients,
I stretch out across the couch and eat a handful
of jelly beans, a domestic glamor shot,
with anything on Netflix that runs long enough
to be the background noise I need
to avoid returning to those questions
or looking for the name of the thing I'm looking for.
And what I can't understand is that I
know a dear older friend was right to remind me once,
though it's returned to me again and again and again.
You are actually very good at joy."