Re-entry, Reconsidered

Not all of us are eager to pick up where we left off

For lunch, I heat up pizza.

Orphans,

one veggie, one Margarita

shrouded in plastic, rescued from the dark backwoods of the freezer,

a surprise I can comfortably handle.

See,

I worry about what comes after

the low stakes Now,

where if I don’t return a text,

it’s okay. You don’t hate me, or you get over it.

At night

I stand in the yard and look at the sky.

It is the only vast unknowable I appreciate,

a suggestion, not mandate.

The firmament spins unaware of the

countdown to Earth’s grand re-opening

which, between you and me, I plan to skip.

My world, sweatpants-cozy; is the back of my hand.

The freezer harbors mystery enough.

My prayer: more found pizza.