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Kelly Grace Thomas
No Matter What Happens
It’s been a wet sleeve of a week. Taxes,
jury duty, and hope on her knees. But
somewhere waits the first marigold bites
of spring. Somewhere, a child is learning the letters
of their name. No matter what happens,
you’re still you. Still know how to a white-knuckle
a dream. Lose yourself in a coastal view. It’s winter
in California; the difference between
light and dark is thirty degrees, is how
you talk to yourself. When no one is looking,
you stand at the edge of the dock, toes over
a watery blue. Across this cold
is a mountain. Nothing between you
and your future but fog.