Ninety

A set that I pulled out of my ass in a time crunch for a thesis. Sometimes I like it.

It sounds like perfect just missed

A decent grade

An admirable goal

Light blue,

Filtered sky

Crushed hydrangeas

I count the folds in my brain

The minutes spent in bed

The days I still plan

The people I know

The times that I’ve cried

The things I can’t do

Ninety only fills one-third

Of a translucent orange prescription bottle

Because these ninety are small

I pretend they are pebbles or candy

So they are something I want

And not something I need

I live ninety at a time

And think that each bottle is different

The sky looks different too

I am proud when it sounds less like maracas

And more like a skipping stone

It means I get to try again