Adrienne Rozells
what i'm thinking
i do laps around my mind, which is hard, as it just keeps expanding. it does this so quickly that i find it hard to keep up. i am always reaching the edge of myself, the end of my journals, like how scientists say that every time they check, the outer reaches of the universe seem to be moving faster than they were before.
we do laps around the universe, which is hard, as it just keeps expanding. like freckles spreading across the bridge of your nose, as mandated by the sun, or the way your cheeks crease when you smile, a pocket opening on the face of infinity and a cageful of butterflies opening in my stomach.
did you know that the pockets in the universe hold our solar systems, that if i were the universe i could reach into my jacket, which is always full of snacks or snack wrappers or seashells, and pull out a milky way. and maybe it contains our solar system or maybe just leftover plastic sticky with chocolate, and i’ll try to remember how it got there and i probably won’t know.
my mother cried last week when she told me you always think you’ll know one day, but then you just never do. i held her and the thought of still having things to learn at age sixty held me. i’ve often worried about running out of new moments to tuck away in my jeans and accidentally run through the wash to rediscover as i fold.
some moments are just so lovely that i can't imagine moving through them into a new one, so i have to take time to breathe in and imagine a thousand universes unfolding around me, how time probably folds in on itself and actually one breath for me could be an infinity in physics, and i hope for that infinity because this moment should last forever, even if i don't get to stay in it.
we do laps around the universe, which is hard, as it just keeps expanding. like freckles spreading across the bridge of your nose, as mandated by the sun, or the way your cheeks crease when you smile, a pocket opening on the face of infinity and a cageful of butterflies opening in my stomach.
did you know that the pockets in the universe hold our solar systems, that if i were the universe i could reach into my jacket, which is always full of snacks or snack wrappers or seashells, and pull out a milky way. and maybe it contains our solar system or maybe just leftover plastic sticky with chocolate, and i’ll try to remember how it got there and i probably won’t know.
my mother cried last week when she told me you always think you’ll know one day, but then you just never do. i held her and the thought of still having things to learn at age sixty held me. i’ve often worried about running out of new moments to tuck away in my jeans and accidentally run through the wash to rediscover as i fold.
some moments are just so lovely that i can't imagine moving through them into a new one, so i have to take time to breathe in and imagine a thousand universes unfolding around me, how time probably folds in on itself and actually one breath for me could be an infinity in physics, and i hope for that infinity because this moment should last forever, even if i don't get to stay in it.
Biography
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Adrienne Rozells is an Oberlin College grad with a BA in Creative Writing. She is interested in writing as a form of connection and learning, and most especially in experimental work that crosses genres and mediums. She has worked as a Poet in Residence at Langston Middle School, as a reader for Wild Roof Journal, and as a co-founder and editor in chief at Catchwater Magazine. Her creative nonfiction has been published in Wilder Voice Magazine, and more of her work can be found published on Instagram @rozellswrites or on Twitter @arozells. Her favorite things include strawberries, her dogs, and extrapolating wildly about the existence of Bigfoot.
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