The Nervous Condition of Uncertainty
I’m sticking in my earbuds
and listening to Blondie’s I Know But I Don’t Know,
I’m gaining weight,
not in my body,
but it makes me nervous.
Holding onto my ribcage,
which is starting to slip away,
which is the reason
I’m holding onto it—
if something hasn’t happened
how do you know if it’s not going to happen?
Wasn’t it Kierkegaard who thought possibility is never disappointing?
When I’m nervous I put down
what I’m holding onto
and pick up something else
at the same time
to see if it evens out,
sometimes I think I’m too nervous
to be nervous,
is it easier to have an opinion about something you’re not even sure about?
Kierkegaard believed life is not a problem,
why are there so many problems
in a person’s life?
I’m not one of those people who’s thinking
it’s not my problem,
not right now,
of course there are times when we expect something to happen,
and something else happens,
like a refutation—
maybe if we knew what to expect
we’d like it more
than we expected!
Listening to Blondie’s I Know But I Don’t Know,
“hey you know
oh I don’t know”:
as long as I’m uncertain
it makes me nervous
to be nervous,
not in my body,
as when you gain weight you don’t even notice
until you’re heavier all over.
• • •
Report from the Home Front
My tea is green,
my toast is black,
I’m putting some Naked Pea in my smoothie,
I have a cat that looks like some of the other cats in my neighborhood,
at least from a distance,
although to be honest I don’t look
at the neighborhood cats from a distance.
In my neighborhood things are often further away than they need to be:
what I like about my neighborhood is nobody’s telling me to get out of here.
Sitting at my desk,
I actually use my desk for piling things on and looking across when I’m sitting down,
not reaching for anything,
not unless I need something—
sometimes I open a drawer
and stick my head inside,
just for a minute,
as when you put a paper bag over your head and then you look for the airholes,
if you say nobody move that’s what it’s like.
Not even looking in the sockets
where the prongs belong.
Checking my messages to see if there’s a message
from somebody I haven’t even messaged:
which is better a low ceiling
or a high floor?
I’m humming to myself,
hmm,
going out the back
and circling around to the front:
I actually think my cat is smiling at me from a distance,
although it may be one of the other cats in the neighborhood,
they have similar smiles,
at least from a distance:
what I like about my neighborhood is nobody’s telling me it’s okay where you are.
• • •
Peter Leight lives in Amherst, Massachusetts. He has previously published poems in Paris Review, AGNI, Antioch Review, Beloit Poetry Journal, New World, Tupelo Quarterly, Matter, and other magazines.