LonelyJojo

Every day I asked how calculation and compassion could claim the same soul so completely. Every night I asked if tomorrow could teach me a fraction of that sober sympathy: how to stay always in arm’s reach – not to interrupt a fall, but to be the outstretched hand, and how to look down two undemanding paths and choose instead the middle way. When I was a kid my mom gave me dominoes. My hands are steady now, I never knock them down.

First of April I bought a bicycle and on rainy days I carry dry socks in a sandwich bag Temperatures rise in July and I fill my empty lunchbox with ice water for red lights Bag full of clothes, I pedal to the reservoir late at night in the cooler temperatures The lights turn the swirls of powdered soap silver as I wash my only jeans first Problems of insurance and inspection and registration sink into the mud with the Volvo out back Waiting for the bus during a thunderstorm, quarters gathered from coat pockets where they were lost Back of my head crowding with questions of meals and hours and how long I can afford to wait I lost track of you

I arrange the shawl over my head Stronger than yesterday but not the day before No longer an ocean but a river instead Yaya tells me I’m lucky to be wed And this time manages not to call me a whore I arrange the veil over my head Seventeen days since I saw red Sticky mint to sicken my stomach and more No longer an ocean but a river instead No one arrives in my father’s stead Waiting on the church steps to be called for I arrange the stefana over my head I stare at my feet as my name is misread And curse them for having run me ashore No longer an ocean but a river instead We bathe in silence before going to bed Washing away wh

This, then, is an impasse. The center cushion of a couch. An invisible line, a wall of glass; This, then, is an impasse. A barrier built until at last We grow sick of every bite and gouge. This, then, is an impasse. The center cushion of a couch.

Rebecca stood behind the counter, leaning against the wall where the submarine rolls were waiting in poorly labeled baskets. There were no customers. She hadn't had a single sandwich to make in over half an hour. Like every night, she was wondering why the owner even bothered to keep the shop open so late. No one in the quiet little town was interested in swinging by for a sandwich after 9pm. They were all holed up in their trailers or run-down houses, embedded in sofas, destined to fall asleep halfway through Leno. Yet here she was, the lone worker in a sub shop at 9:53 on a Tuesday night, staring at the posters on the bulletin board. Some

The wall behind my head is soft, supportive, as close as I've been to a bed in two days and good goddamn that's enough for me to lean back and shut my eyes and trick myself into thinking I'm sleeping. I've always been good at tricking people - I'm no exception. The room isn't silent. On the other side of the thin wall, a fax machine is beeping and a secretary of some sort is doing keyboard-tapping desk work. I haven't seen her, but I heard her, talking to a uniform who went in to ask her about a phone number, so I know she's a her. The speakers to my left are broadcasting the world outside to me in short, static-y bursts of description, rep