All the Lives We Are

The dairy farmer replied, “Stop
Calling things that aren’t milk
Milk. The newspaper series
was compelling, even
to a city chick like me
I add oat milk to the grocery list
I think of the dairy farmer
The journalist earned awards
Delivery person trades texts, exchanging
broccoli sprouts for bunches or
Did I order that by mistake?

I tipped him fifteen percent, sometimes
I tip twenty. Every time is a goal
To not hesitate or have to calculate,
Project out for 30 days
The same way he, surely, will
I wonder if he does his own shopping
In between or other days

I thank him, wave through the screen
A woman sits in his passenger seat
Winter coat open, attention on her phone
I wonder if she rides often, all the time
After a fight
Could be his best friend, like my daughter’s best guy
friends from high school, their small colony of peers
Crossing over the gritty sands into maturity

The cicadas are coming this year
Billions, according to the news
I am intent to obsess over both groups of new adults
I shuttle the groceries from porch to kitchen

Copyright © 2018 by Kari Gunter-Seymour. This poem originally appeared in Still: The Journal, Fall 2018. Used with permission of the author.