I woke up as the plane was crashing. Lights flashing, sirens squealing, [was someone screaming?] thinking this is the end and my mom in my head clucked and tsssked and says ‘son, count on you to wake up on a Friday and blame the weekend for coming too soon.’
it was built closed and not meant to open.
i keep looking for the line that was waiting in line. scanning for a raised hand at the back of the stanza. for the voice simmering just under the noise and the scribbles. coffee in coffee shops is easy, asking someone else to grind it out and brew it means that you are in their hands for the gift of the sip.