Spin Up

A submission is a hopeful torture. You wait for a stranger to decide, yes or no. A test, a number, an application or a Valentine—every kind of pick-me, pick-me missive sent out like a boomerang. You wait for word to bend back home.  You, your heart, and the tick-tock clock.

The Carnival comes but once a year, but I nominate it Year-Round Waiting Room. Spin up where the bolts are tightened enough, and where the lights are brightened at dusk.