End Game

By Kelly Grace Thomas


Paper towels, Tupperware for salad, dish soap.

Everyday hiccups that sacrifice art.

When there are papers to grade and the recycling is full once again.

we empty ourselves, sorting our wants into bins that don’t matter.

I will never win a Pulitzer at the Dollar Store, Trader Joes will never offer to publish my novel.

And yet I allow the ordinary to control the extraordinary.

The errands that run my life until inspiration is exhausted,

 empty stomach and dirty dishes

 feel more immediate than all the “one days” and “with hard works.”

I let the To Do list pile up,

 but the To Dream list sits unmarked.

The dream never changes, it sits in the back, waiting for me to:

put away the groceries,

make the bed,

finish that phone call.

It waits  . .