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vacuum space
by Angela ThomasI'm stumbling and falling, tripping
over things that aren't really on
the ground, bits of imaginary
dust that keep attaching
themselves to my shoes.
i forgot my work hat again
and i was late. i reached
over to grab my phone
for the time, and it felt
like a pile of clothes
i must not have folded
were laying beside me,
that was, until he sighed.
i bounded out of bed,
ten minutes to get to work,
and i was not by any means
or any blood calculations
sober. what does 12 shots
of alcohol, a depressingly
happy love movie, an exboyfreind
and the middle of the night
get you? half way to work
at least. the morning
was like pulling myself
through glue. the customers
would come in, i would murmer
something about welcome
to moes, and then i would try
to remember how to count
money and take change, give
out the right cups, and i should
be home doing something other
than being here. half way through
the day, while the fog was starting
to lift, i pulled up a chair to our
one broken table and flopped.
my arm stretched over the counter,
like a wooden doll haphazardly thrown
somewhere for a minute. i keep half
of my vision on the door, just in case
i need to get up, and then i see him,
through the tint, looking like sunshine
and i was a puddle. the work ethic
chimes in and i bound out of the table,
teetering, keeping from toppling,
when, like i felt i was, even though
i was on solid ground, my heart fell
off of it's little platform where it must
live and it turned and turned, falling
deeper and deeper through a cold
black darkness, a vacuum space.
it still hasn't landed. 06/12/2004 Posted on 06/13/2004
Copyright © 2026 Angela Thomas
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