Because This is What 30 Feels Like
Johanna M. Geiger
It feels the same,
like a whisper calling you from sleep in the early morning.
like the smell of coffee that hasn’t yet been ground.
Thirty feels much like twenty-nine, but with less syllables, less pent-up wondering rage.
Thirty feels like a much-loved moth eaten sweater, the kind you wear around at night and on the
weekends and sometimes out to the store when you realize you’re out of milk and are in need of some
It feels like twenty-nine summers and thirty Autumns. It feels like the impending snow and the hope,
yes, yes, yes
the world can still be changed, but not in quite the same way as bachelorette youth.
Thirty feels like everything and nothing.
It feels like so much anxiety-riddled anticipation made flat like a shaken soda – the kind you dropped at
nine on your way back from the convenience store. The one that bubbled on the counter with that first
burst, but was just sticky sweet water by the end of the day.
Yes, thirty, this number of dread, but not quite living up to its doomed visage.
The world didn’t end, no.
It’s opening its wings again. It’s bursting though.
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