By Fernando Gallegos
By Fernando Gallegos

By Kit Courter

In between episodes,
I suppose, life goes on
in its continuing ways. I open
a cupboard and look for
gray moths, and usually
find them, though it would be nice to find
butterflies. The box of breakfast cereal
comes easily from the shelf
like the bowl, and the spoon
from the drawer beside the stove.

In between episodes, I stare at my
computer and Facebook, hoping
someone will “Like” my picture, and dream
of standing in a field with my camera
framing up dawn mountains.

In between
episodes I write poems at the table. Sometimes
I make love. Sometimes
I cry. In between, I try not just to wait.

In between episodes, I think of Joseph Chiles
leading wagon trains in ’42,
paused at a river, considering what to do.
I might make a tuna sandwich
to take to work. I might tune up

my guitar. I might jump on my
motorcycle and ride to Oxnard
for the show— but oh!

That might lead
to an episode, leaving me once more
beside the road,
dancing.

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