It’s hard not to see myself

appearing in that movie,

the one where I’m driving at night,

staring at the road.

And I can’t say there are two people with me

when I know they’re downstairs sleeping.

It’s just me in the kitchen.

Me and two jars of kombucha

fermenting on the green table.

The jars have paper towels

under their lids like little hats

and have the look of two nuns

walking side by side against a breeze.