written by Robin Lee Jordan
Comet didn’t mean to be here. Comet wakes up in a yellow baseball cap even though Comet has never worn baseball caps. They’ve always felt their eyebrows are too similar to the brim so they get swallowed up & now no one knows how Comet is feeling or what they mean by “It’s okay.” Comet can’t move their body—they aren’t even sure they have a body. But it’s okay. They stare up at the sun & then their face does sun karaoke & the blades of grass can all tell that Comet doesn’t even know the words to the sun but it’s okay. On the other side of the brim a sack of Lake Erie pebbles & a sack of cemetery dirt cuddle. They are lovers. The dirt sack uses the pebble sack’s stomach as a pillow. Comet is the third wheels but it’s okay. Comet understands now that a hat holds within it the love song of privacy—the gift of emotional buoyancy—the illusion of okayness, stuck to the radio tower humming a song we all decided not to learn the words to.