PURGATORY POEM

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All my feelings crusted
on the lip of the jar.
Why does milk do that
and how did we decide it’s okay
to drink. Everything taken
for granted once a miracle.
Wonderbread the result
of someone hunched over
hitting grain with a rock.
It wasn’t until the fifth day
in the ICU I realized
miraculous came from miracle.

I came from my mother
and now I can’t fit into her jeans.
Dreams turn mundane.

I can’t remember if I left
the oven on in real life.
The days of the week meaningless
except to mark when I can park
in the garage for free.
Please protect me, mundanity,
from the miracles

I haven’t gotten used to yet—
let me stay surprised
when I stretch my leg in bed
and graze someone else’s.