Something Tangible

Jody Goch

Those suspended moments when there is an in-held breath of possibility, when emptiness is full of spontaneous phenomena, and who the hell am I kidding, right now, sitting here, there is not a deep thought in my head, there is only the slight craving for nachos, or cheese puffs, salted buttered popcorn, I want tangible comfort chewed upon and applied to my senses, don’t want to think or feel or worry, or take another blood test, reply to another text from someone who heard something from someone who got it all slightly wrong, I don’t want to think about my sister on holiday in the Dominican republic, who I haven’t told and who is going to be so pissed when she comes home, but how could I tell her, when I knew she needed this holiday, when sitting on a beach and drinking rum with her fiancé is all she should be thinking about

no, I just want to pour myself a ginger ale, open a bag of chips and reach into and through that small vacuum between the top of the bag and the greasy yumminess nestled at the bottom of all that space, I don’t want to feel the slight anxiety that it may take months before I ride again, before I can feel the slight curve of a horse under my legs, the time between healing and being well, that moment in time that may go on way too long, I’m not going to think about that or feel the fear how close it all was,

no, I will fill my space with date squares, which I plan to make, chewy full of maple syrup and rolled oats, maybe some pecans, soft rock music, James Taylor, Bob Seeger, the Eagles, maybe some Fleetwood Mac, perhaps macaroni and cheese, with extra parmesan, good comfort food to fill the area between all this half-filled what ifs, I’ve been living in Salvador Dali time, everything melting around me, what I want right now, right here, is stable solid tangible items: my dog’s battered red ball, her bark, my wife’s voice, talking on the phone, the snow falling, the nice bite of cold on my feet as I pick up firewood, to fill up the stove. To fill up space, to make sure I’m still warm.

Jody Padumachitta Goch is a Canadian living in the German Black Forest. Jody’s jeans and shirt pockets are full of stories. It’s hell on the wash machine. They enjoy lighting the wood stove and rescuing words from the lint catcher. They have been published Wild Word, Com Lit, Temz, Does It Have Pockets? NPR Poetically Yours, Co-0p Poetry, and Strasburg Short Stories, 2021.