i've spent way too
much time in the last
few weeks refreshing 
application pages to
MFA programs
as if at 9:52pm
on a Sunday night
the selection committee 
will be making their
final decisions
clicking the send button
to welcome me
into some kind of
answer-- i started
doing it to my
email inbox too--
it's like when i was
little & first discovered
the phenomenon
of the mail--
how like magic 
the green box at
the end of the driveway
summoned
toy catelogs around
christmas & 
white envelope 
bills for mom to
stack on the kitchen
table with orphaned 
mittens & other odds
& ends--
the miracle of
a postage stamp
& it's small promises
to carry words--
the end of
my driveway is
now a computer
screen-- 
maybe
if i refresh this
page again
there will be
some email from god 
sitting there--
an attachment image
of my life all
mapped out in .jpgs--
the driveway dissolves 
into a keyboard
into a postage 
stamp stuck to the back
of my neck--
where are you
sending me? 
is god still up
at his desk?-- hunched
over a MacBook--
two finger strolling
down a list of
people like
me who write 
him
letters only
to save them as 
drafts-- if
i refresh one
more time 
will the asphlat
come back?
who is coming
with me?
the little red flag--
hand raised--
what's funny is
i don't even know
if i want to 
go to graduate school
or change cities
or have my name
on a dust cover
perching on the shelf of 
some independent book
store on a quirky 
main street--
stop lights 
key-chain swaying
in a gust of January wind--
i don't know if
i love you--
but i'm scared 
i'll punch in
the URL one more time
& i'll see myself
on the screen
at the end of my 
parent's driveway--
messy pig tails &
ripped-knee jeans
or
30 years old
on the steps of
some apartment
building in 
a city i haven't
been yet--
at first i won't
recognize him
until i notice
his black converse
& the nervous
way he pushes his
sweater sleeves
up to the elbows--
i know that
tomorrow
isn't coming
in the mail &
that waiting 
is a form of elegy
but i wish you
were here with me now  
tonight at my 
computer-- kiss
me like a postage
stamp on
my right shoulder-- 
this is a letter
for you--