Trust Me, Anyway

I am not a visionary,

I am a list maker

who likes receipts and backup plans.

I trust things I can measure:

bus times, bank apps,

The way bread rises when I don’t stare at it.

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But lately, my future feels like fog

with a cute attitude problem.

I walk into it

holding my own hand.

Some days I wobble

like a baby deer in thrift-store boots.

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I tell myself small promises:

drink water,

answer one email,

open the window,

Don’t reread the text that bruised you.

༺

The sky doesn’t give me signs,

just weather.

Still, I step outside

and let the cold air teach me

That discomfort isn’t always danger.

༺

I don’t know what’s waiting.

Maybe nothing grand.

Maybe a soft life

I haven’t learned to picture yet.