25 Nov Parker Baldin
maybe something simple like a car finds you
shows up one day
flashes it’s lights
like it knows you
moving, hidden by the trees, you keep walking
but the nervousness is there, the feeling they know
who you are
maybe the breath of a stranger, on a bus or at a party
causes you to startle, to jump a little bit
the feeling that the place, the environment doesn’t
seem to understand you
your ability to speak up seems disrupted
like it didn’t exist to begin with
maybe one day a woman one person ahead of you
in a cafeteria line is your mother ten years ago
in her twenties
hearing her voice and the way she strikes her
debit card on the machine magically similar
you know it’s not her, but you don’t even speak
maybe one day a feature on your body disgusts you
you ask your friends.
make small, self-referential jokes
and the reality of it is that it’s true and nothing seems
in your power to change.
looking at yourself in the mirror before leaving, you feel comfortable
you feel like the city you live in makes up for this,
that somehow what and who you are have a home
a little setting for your purpose
maybe one day you wake up without a blueprint
you don’t understand you’re loneliness, because who are you even?
maybe someday an opportunity tries to get your attention
it shifts, like a lover explaining a bad dream in the morning
but you’re too sleepy to pay much attention
maybe the opportunity then goes downstairs
makes coffee for itself, showers, begins slowly, incrementally
over days, maybe months, to drift away from you
it realizes that maybe its opportunity is for someone
Is there a way to know about this?
Parker Baldin is a writer from Montreal. His work has appeared in The Void and Headlight among other publications.