In a wide turnout,
try to decide where
to go from here.
My cell has buzzed
messages for over an hour.
I scroll through them while
I consider my next move.
Everyone wants to talk.
Dad: WE HAVE TO TALK. COME HOME RIGHT NOW.
At some point. But not yet.
From Syrah: WOW. THAT WAS WEIRD. I’M HERE IF YOU
WANT TO TALK.
Maybe later.
From Monica: LO SIENTO, NOVIA. YOU’RE STILL
COMING OVER, YEAH? YOU CAN TALK TO ME, OKAY?
I know. But not now.
And I can’t even consider
a boisterous Torres crowd
when all I want to do is fall
into bed and sleep this away.
From Gabe: AUNT ZELDA WOULD LIKE TO TALK TO