November 2, 2021

the next millionaire

Pretend there’s no money in it. That the tally from the bank that keeps dangling
its interest rates in your mailbox is just glitter. Think of the bill from the plumber,
paid with the cash you’d earmarked for a pair of boots, as neutral as a Post-It.
Imagine the dwindling numbers in your wallet like the whirligigs you saw cascading
in last week’s storm, the one that knocked out your internet and turned your attention
to how green the grass still was. Think of how many times you’ve gazed at the moon
in slack-jawed wonder, calling out to someone still inside to come and take a look.
How you couldn’t take your eyes off that face, the one peering at you so intimately,
and how in that moment you felt your insides multiply, turn infinitesimal,
your whole life uncountable as stars.