Diana Darby ** "I V" ** Intravenous

Cherry Coke Salad

There must be some happiness
to be found in all of this.
The accident.
My neck.
The tornado coming this way.
My head tells me to run,
to go to Seattle or New York,
to lock myself away
from him,
from everyone.
To go back to being the observer.
At coffee shops I would sit with my pen and paper
and write about strangers.
Their hands.
Their hair.
The smoke that curled from their lips.
It is so much easier to get lost in them
than to try to get to know myself.
This year,
they will sit without me,
exchanging comments
and jabs
with sweet potatoes
and Cherry Coke Salad.
All that sweetness lost
on their conversation.
I am
in all of this,
between
the light
and the table,
swallowing pills
and scooping up mashed potatoes
for my dog.