The No That Took Me Somewhere

She said it loud enough for the hallway—

she'd gotten the job she'd prayed for.

I was at the door with my coffee.

I said congratulations. Meant it.

Then spent the rest of the afternoon

at my desk trying to reconstruct

what my life would look like

if a different prayer had been answered

ten years ago.

The job. The city. The version of me

who would have arrived there, slightly overdressed,

not knowing anyone yet.

I can't build it past a week.

It goes blurry at the edges.

What I have instead is a corner

in this city—a bakery on Clement Street

I passed every morning for three years.

The smell of it at 7am.

The particular quality of November light

through the front window.

The woman who had my order ready

before I finished asking.

I would not know that corner.

I would not know what that bread smells like

at that hour, in that light,

or who I became in the radius of it.

I'm not saying anything

about God or design.

I'm saying the answer was no

and I walked somewhere I didn't plan

and a bakery was there

and I went in every morning for three years.