Glasses

[changeme12]

And I carry the box lightly,
My steps flow with rhythm.
I even seem to float between steps.
The room grows nearer,
Just as the angst that comes with surprise begins to tease me.

The anguish gently presses its finger unto my brains,
Slowly,
Surreptitiously,
It lets its presence and power known.
It knows, I know.
Its opportunity to squeeze away the hope,
Impress disappointment,
Awaits only moments.

Nonetheless for a surprise,
one of life’s most dreadful things I'm sure,
I am surprisingly optimistic.

Isn’t that such a disaster,
The only refuge I have in such a moment is in that which I am scared.

I run into a cave fearful,
Only to run into a hole and feel safe. Sad.
But I would assume that is life.

My hands have found the box cutter,
My fingers curl around its smooth plastic with excitement,
And power.

If it is only in the act of opening the box I have power,
I will maintain,
And enjoy it.

The blade jig jags through the tape,
And some card board of course.

If this is my one and only…
I will cut corners,
Not care for consequence.

With a final eerie slide of the blade,
And its jagged extraction from the cardboard…
I watch the flaps sway open,
Like a lone tree that moves with a slow molasses wind.

My hand meanders in and pulls them out.
I look in the mirror.
Check the fit.
Get a complement.
And my nerves are quietly calmed…
The finger tips relent.