by Eloise Schultz

Could I be as bright as a pebble on the roadside, waiting
          to be warmed in a pocket?

Or have the kindness of the person who picks it up?

Like when the band was stranded in Newport and
          that older couple invited me to stay over?

How they meant everybody but at the same time mostly me,
          and also how they meant stay over?

Somewhere between Where else am I going to sleep tonight
          and Do I have to sleep with both of them?

Sort of like Would I feel this way if I hadn’t spent the day reading
          Pynchon in the back of the minivan?

Was the kindness their invitation or how I curled my body onto
          an ottoman while my bandmates watched Trailer Park Boyz II?

Or that we didn’t learn until much later that the house
          was called Party Prison?

If this is not a question about kindness so much as it is about
          who picks up whom?

If kindness is that I still don’t know what felt so shattering?

If it’s that a person is not a pebble?

If the kindness is simply knowing you can say no? Sort of like
          saying yes with your eyes squeezed shut?

Even if you don’t? If that’s a promise? Even if it’s just me?                    Promising myself?

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About the Author:

Eloise Schultz lives in downeast Maine. She is the author of [DUG OUT], a hybrid collection forthcoming from Alternating Current Press. She enjoys playing the flugelhorn, and her favorite apple is the Black Oxford. Find her online at www.eloiseschultz.com.