SUSAN SHEA

Unlisted

I catch myself repeatedly opening and closing the
same too many zippers on my pocketbook looking
for a shopping list, as though it will suddenly
appear like an opera singer will suddenly

be sitting next to me here in my car, singing a song
all about me, to explain how I got to this point

she will be singing from the most important
lists of my life, the ones that made me jump
across Grand Canyon size spaces to get to where
I was going, with just a few bullet points on a page

call that man, fill in that form, speak to that woman,
empty that closet, stop that crying, start that beseeching

all the stanzas start coming together

all I have to do is get out of the car, start
walking the aisles, and the provisions will make
themselves known to me while the anthems keep
coming unexpectedly to accompany my listlessness