I have trouble finishing things, it’s true. Books, to-do lists, milk before it turns. I switched to a quart but the problem persisted and I can only make myself so small. I’ve tried to pinpoint when I became who I am but I grew up in a subdivision where streets met at 90 degrees and now I can’t find the center of things. The winter I turned 8, a boy two streets over fell into the ice-covered lake while retrieving his sled. Technically, he died, but the shock of cold water allowed him to live without breathing and now he’s an electrician. The grown-ups all agreed it was a miracle but my mom said miracle shmiracle somebody should have kept a better eye on that boy. I don’t know what this says about death or my actual life or why three months after they plucked him from the lake his dad moved to North Carolina and had a different batch of kids. In the end, it’s all just a teetering heap of Sundays on the verge of toppling. The longest I can hold my breath is 32 seconds.
Michelle Matz’s poems have appeared, or are forthcoming, in numerous publications, including Mud Season Review, Atlanta Review, The Lascaux Review, Dodging the Rain, Cider Press Review, Atticus Review, SWWIM, One Art, and Verse Daily. Her chapbook was a semifinalist in the Ledge Poetry Contest and was published in 2006. Her book, Acoustic Shadow, was recently published by Main Street Rag.
Image: “Holidays on Ice” from The Dollar Store Estate Sale Collection
Pine Hills Review 