A/Way

The woman at the drugstore hugs me when I say I'm going away. Dilapidated old drugstore, they put the Village back in this neighborhood. The old Chinese woman who invariably sits smoking on her stoop no matter the hour I pass her smiles, and I nod; we are not ready for hugs yet, it took us months to get this far. Return to my apartment to try to fit this chaos into a suitcase, eat as much of the expiring food as possible. I look around my room like it's the last time: an oddly familiar feeling, I try to shake it quickly, that's not what's happening here. The back of your spine is a weather vane better than than the newscaster, a silent beetle spinning in circles before the earthquake even begins to tremble. I only pretend not to see it out of fear for what the storm will ask of me. In a cold, snowy, Brooklyn window I saw the year spread out ahead like a miracle, like an obstacle course, like a Life, and here we are, deep in the mud but still racing. I spoke to the Universe again this morning. It says hello. It promised to look after you while I'm away, or was it the other way around, it doesn't always speak so clearly but I think it has everything under control.

A ticket lies in my back pocket. I plead with it to tell me something I don't yet know.

Vow to make this not a year without fear
But a year I am fearless.