Invisibility

I want so badly to disappear sometimes

I’m good at it.

It’s easy to fill that disappearance: painting the sky on a teapot,

watching movies, napping, walking the dog, reading Jane Austen,

talking to the plants, the walls, the coffee table when I stub my toe on it.

It is especially easy to disappear when things feel wrong:

a car totaled after being rearended and no replacement in sight,

a “not approved” message for a loan for summer tuition,

no idea about what to do next, trying to figure out how

to ask for a huge favor.

When I am disappeared, I resent what makes me become visible:

a video assignment, a two hour bus ride surrounded by strangers,

a party I promised to go to weeks ago

(where I’m supposed to meet a guy).

I don’t mind invisibility, I relish being alone.

I’m good at it.