What would I pack,
if I only had moments?
Each instant a panoply of choices,
laboring through nightmarish
voices and priority schemes,
could I arrive at what I need? Yes. Them.
But, God, would I even remember
to take water for my toddler?
What comforts would I forsake for my son?
What curses would I utter
in those desperate, teflon seconds
as the mystery of every unforeseen heartbreak
pressed in at the speed of terminal velocity?
Less time than I have to read this: