The Body Considers Again How Thoughts Are Things

Why is it so hard to empty oneself
of thoughts and things; to quiet

the foot that wants to tap all
throughout each TV commercial

or slow the hand that wants to dip
into the bowl until every single bit

of popcorn is gone? A girl in class
fingers the hem of her shirt, starting

from the front and going all around
to the back. At the grocery checkout

the man ahead in the line has lots
of beer and wine in his cart:

Hurricane supplies, he grins.
Which is sort of the same as your

pack of dumplings, can of wasabi
peas, boxes of Pocky. You remember

the last time this kind of thing
happened: they issued the evacuation

order, with no time to pack all but
a bag each. So much for your intention

to donate, downsize; then scan all
important documents. You put chairs

up on the dining table. You unplugged
appliances and touched your books.

You looked around, wondering what
would still be there on your return.

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