Kinetic, or Jack-in-the-Box

I have this thing
full of rainbow sequins and popcorn fireworks.
It has the explosive power of a jack-in-the-box
wound tight,
toying with the springs, ready to burst,
to play.

I have this thing--
it sprinkles fairy godmother dust across my forehead,
composes harmonies through severed lines of poetry,
mixes purple paint with orange and green and makes the color red.

I have this thing--
it doodles winged creatures on the cushion of my office chair,
pays homage to guitar strings the day the monthly bills are due,
sweeps the dust rag underneath the couch during spring cleaning.

I have this thing
drenched in sooner or later,
scorched by
at some point and not much longer now,
melted into wait and
almost there,
frozen by the expectation of imperfection.

I have this thing--
I will misplace it yesterday
and found it tomorrow.
It will be falling up the drain.
I'll reach out and scoop it in
and wring it on
and squeeze it wet
and hang it overneath to dry.
I will press it ridged
and squish it flat
pick it down
and stretch it loose
and all the same, it will remain the same.
And
it will still be mine.


Thanks to dr. richard country for the line "I have this thing"