Engine

The car is still on and I’m not going in yet

Music low, just enough to feel it in my chest

A stolen pen in the cupholder

I pick it up, and gaze at it

It’s been a while since anything in me wanted out

I feel it there, not loud, not rushing, just… there,

like something waking up, barely moving

I catch myself smiling, don’t quite trust it

Like if I look at it, it’ll disappear again

Schrödinger’s spark, I think

My body doesn’t hurt right now, or I just don’t care

There’s something about making a thing, even a little thing,

that reminds me I’m still here, not just getting through

I know this isn’t everything I’m capable of

So I sit a moment too long.

Inside, it will all close in, the noise, the weight

But this is mine

this quiet

this tiny fire

No one else sees it, holds it, knows it

I hate that, and I love it, because it means it’s still mine

I don’t know what happens next

But the engine is running