cosmic

when the numbers add up, but why should they?

like most people
i spend the bulk of my time
alone. like now, writing
this poem, I could
very well dive into
the internet to find
definitions and ideas
about how to proceed
to alleviate the sense
that to get from 
A to Zed there’s 
some path other than
this brain-born
impulse to put
letters one after
another until they
make a word until
they make a phrase
until the phrase 
turns to the next 
line until the fear 
of not knowing 
what next cannot
stop me.

like most people
i’ve wondered 
what’s out there 
what’s made the
grass grow my
nails grow, the
impulse to go
acrylic rather than
paint what I have.
is a hangnail
skin or nail?
I could exit the
poem now 
to search but these
cosmic questions
to which there
are answers but
also no good 
reasons; this keeps
me fixed here 
in my secondhand
desk chair my
fingers moving
listening to the
ceiling fan’s 
whirr? whoosh? --
what’s the name
for the medium
speed spin sound 
as it goes 
’round fast
enough that 
blades become
a flower, and 
once every 
minute or so
it rattles twice
definitely off
balance but
not enough 
that it requires
immediate
attention.

This is Day 42 of my #100DayChallenge. Thank you to my soul-sister Suellyn for the word-prompt today “cosmic.”

I guess I could comment how this word happen to fall on Day 42 — a number that represents the ANSWER — to life, the universe, and everything. But I don’t want to imply that this poem or I have that kind of weight.

Simple coincidences do give our existence a happy little soundtrack however, don’t they?

I happened to have loved the year I was 42 — it was a fun, year for me. So I do love that number, on many levels.

What’s your favorite number? Why?