Before I pop

by Aleza Freeman

If you ever dip your wand
and blow a bubble,
dip and blow, dip and blow

those iridescent globes
born from breath, float off
and burst, in only an instant

you’ll see there’s the one tiny bubble
that seems to hitch a ride in
the larger one’s back seat.

Is it a hump?
Separation anxiety?
Siamese twins?

I think that tiny bubble is me,
clinging to the world from outside,
trying to see in,

to understand, absorb
and share it all with you
before I pop.