By: Holly Day
Every once in a while, I make the mistake
of wondering what it’s all about, if there is any point
if I really belong to this vast, blackness of universe
if removing this one microscopic piece that’s me from the picture matters
if anyone would notice if I were gone.
There is a continuity to this machination
train wheels rolling, gear wheels grinding
I’d like to think I’m at least as important
as one of the dull metal teeth on just one gear
just indispensable enough that the machine
that makes up this corner of the universe
would shudder and groan, slip just a little
at my absence.