It Could Be
The only things that matter
are the things that didn’t at the time.
Fingers sticky from dripping
talking through movies we’ve never seen,
bike rides to nowhere like children skipping school,
sleepy Sundays that felt wasted
filled with nothing
surrounded by everything:
books with worn spines,
cats kneading the blanket you knit when you cared,
cheap chocolate and cheese
Laughing till I’m wobbly
with the man I love
as we try to save the ladybugs
infesting, like the kindest, most proper intruders.
Tiny polka dots on the walls of our home.
about more than what good you can do,
about problems around which you cannot wrap your soul,
about everything that . with time . grows milky,
leaves a body
Michaela Papa is a native Nutmegger who recently moved from Boston to North Carolina. She spends her days reading, writing, and searching for acceptable bagels. Her work tends to revolve around characters slightly left of center. She has been published previously in Coup d’Etat, East Coast Ink, Discovery Girls Magazine, and others.