The mountain thinks it’s time
I stomped my stupid feet up
its face. Don’t judge our
relationship. Of the many things
I can’t get used to, living is
the one I mention least when
complaining. That path through
the ferns that bordered the river
has been asking after me. I can’t
say it’s the sniffles, keeps me
away. Partly, it’s poor time
management, partly I forgot
that joy existed. There was a moment,
insulated by fog, all the old
hates quieted, I could’ve believed.
A Yelp Review of Life
3 stars. It was good to be alive, not
as good as we’d hoped or expected.
We supposed that must be our
faults, all evidence to the contrary.
We heard such good things, and some
bad. We did some things, though all
of us ran out pretty early on and struggled
to fill the hours in a way others
respected. A few would’ve liked to feel
the rotting, the being nibbled
away, but that’s probably hind-
sight. For most of it, there wasn’t
too much or too little. It was
just enough. But it would’ve
been nice not to be so stuck
in our heads the whole time.
CL Bledsoe’s latest poetry collection is Trashcans in Love. His latest short story collection is The Shower Fixture Played the Blues. His latest novel is The Funny Thing About… Bledsoe lives in northern Virginia with his daughter and blogs, with Michael Gushue, at https://medium.com/@howtoeven