Stuck With A Heavy Bucket Poem by Melanie Emikohe

It is not like I got robbed
of developmental milestones

I passed out on a grounded chalk of sand
at twenty-one with my last memory
giggling good - while a stranger's mouth
tastetesting samplers below my jawline

The bucket list overflows
but I keep pouring in some more
the lawless is only playing dead
nothing is ever outgrown
looking back, remembering
oddly breathtaking views that I did not
just stood and watch
but laid, tortured by their textures

I've had it all, I suppose
not shorted of age brackets'
assigned pleasures
Some people die rich
without a good dirty smile

Nobody really knows
in spite of granny pants, messy bun
I'm not done.

Clipping his fingernails
stubborn clay clinging to nailbed
they are not dirt
but proof of a good childhood
as he extends each finger
trusting that I wont be clumsy
to blindly cut a skin is a current reality

It is a routine kind of loving
one that makes me add another spoonful
of caffeine to my usual half and half mix
just so I can force reggae heart beats
and a vision of a helicopter dropping
ten thousand easter eggs

It has not been the case for awhile

But it is what I do best
besides planning the twenty years to take
though it's as easy as googling reviews
to be at a likes-worthy backdrop next day
decoding subway routes

I have preserved means to unload the bucket
in case I would reach a moment of weakness
to be neglectful, to do it again

But that cute grin of crooked teeth
innocent of my capabilities
looking at me like I'm the best news
ever published
in a chaos of seven point seven billion

I am stuck to a choice
He is just too charming to miss