Bedside Table

Thrown open— the drawer reveals an academy of teachings, Tarot of the Sidhe, Buddahdasa Bikku, the Holy Bible (ESV edition). All bound up, cut perfectly even . Acquired through polite distribution on street corners and restaurant tables or wrapped in pretty paper with a bow for Christmas. At best, the mind shapes them into little doorways for passing through. At worst, trite lassos with which to contain the chaos

just beneath I’ve got sleeping masks, grace in a jar, writings to myself—disordered and cryptic misspelled, letters from old lovers, notes from my mother, a wine cork, a cough drop, a bookmark should I ever find my place, and a passport to escape it.

But alas, no pen for the crossword.