Sense of Self Anna Berry

the nucleic heart of the milky way a red spectacle in the eyes of jupiter and i am everywhere, anywhere but in my seat

abruptly my self importance is shattered by a grounding blink the bell-like ring of a fork against ceramic and the clinging faux leather of my seat

have i forgotten?

our cups, overflowing with nourishing droplets squeezed from hours of uncertainty and the cool blue of mid-afternoon shadow

our baskets, filled with the fruits of our labor cultivated through years of sunlight and the ashen scorn of cloudy skies

a glance across the table at an orange juice smile and the rind of my conjecture peeled back to reveal something sweet