Friday anxiety monologue

i’m weeping because i love the little house in the cul-de-sac & its perfect little street name and because my job cannot be mine forever and i am so good at so many things but all of them have dollar signs attached & maybe their prices are higher than i will ever be able to pay & i saw my favorite poet speak the day after i got laid off & i knew that our lives would never cross the same horizon line because i have always been too poor for poetry but i write it anyways what even is the purpose of a poem if not to record some small sliver of a world that will never be truly yours i mean the other day i heard a baby say to its mother i love you & i tucked that little nugget of loss into my back pocket because i am rotting at the base of the fig tree of my life & i have so many reasons to love which by my calculations is double the reasons to grieve & i am trying to tell you the reasons why these lines of salt trickle down my trembling chin but in the end what are we really if not the amalgamations of everything we have cried over & if that’s the case i will savor each tear as proof of service rendered.