In the beginning, I was buried
in the middle of the pile --
tangled, attached to two others,
and I could barely breathe or see.
Hooked, we call it. Together,
even lost and scattered,
we laugh a lot, but we never
let anyone hear. The wild,
black-haired woman is in charge
of us. One whole year went by
before I broke loose. Yesterday,
after she shook us awake
for no reason at all, I was finally
on top of the rest. Slightly sideways,
the perfect angle, I'm sure I'm next.
We're all waiting for her fingers.
Today, I saw her look this way.
If she reaches, she might decide
to dig instead, and then, her pinch
will miss me. If she touches lightly,
gracing the surface, she'll find me
waiting. But if I am chosen,
no one knows where the stack
will take me. Only one came back,
and she was coated in yellow vinyl.
If that happens to me, I hope God
is kind enough to choose purple.
C.A. MacConnell
