after Matthew Henriksen’s “Redacted Reflection”
Today the world ends. I’m not talking apocalyptic tidal waves, raging fires, or record-breaking temperatures. If you want a poem with spit-firing volcanoes and rock-tossing ground shakes, look elsewhere. Today the world ends, and it is Friday, mid-March. My full-time job became my part time job. My ceiling leaks every time I flush the upstairs toilet and no plumber knows why. Someone sideswipes my parked car in Target. My manuscript bombs in another contest. I cannot feel or think or be anything. I cannot create any words to describe this day. Give me a glass of wine or two. Give me a slow song from Billie Holiday or Roy Orbison. Songs that make this darkness look like light. Pink Floyd or if I want to be ironic, Joy Division. Do not ask for a poem about you. Your Twitter feed is still balloons and confetti compared to mine. My Facebook feed and Instagram are red eye selfies and thumb covered pics. Some say we all have these days when everyone else’s darkness looks like an open-window dance party. Champagne and flowers. Look, my darkness cannot be understood or measured like sliced meat on a deli counter scale.