Can I have your attention? (Sorry)

Photo by Lance Anderson on Unsplash

What a serious thing it is,
asking for someone’s attention—
waltzing into an already overmined canyon to say,
Hey, look at me now! See anything you like?

Yet that’s what I’ve been doing for miles,
putting food on my table by presenting myself
on others’ mineral-stripped desks for consideration.

Not aggressively, I don’t think
and usually with a finger pointing back
at the delicate beauty of the land we sit on
but still
it’s a lot
I haven’t done a perfect job.

What is my work? I know what I stand for
generally speaking and in some ways specifically
but how will I hold it the right way?
How close to my own fragile chest should I live
and what of all the good it doesn’t feel right
to enjoy alone?

I can only come back to now, yet again
drinking coffee on a chilly summer morning,
the sounds of the city muted by earplugs
someone else knew I needed
to drown out all this noise—
and told me so, repeatedly.

I would like to be squeezed until something useful comes out.

Maybe I could walk up to more people bravely and ask things like,
When did you last feel amazed?
What did your grandparents cook?
Is there a story your heart is dying to tell?
I will listen.
You have my attention,
please take it?