Heads I Go

I said heads I go, tails I stay home.

Flipped the quarter and watched it drop.

Tails. And something in my chest

loosened — a held breath finally stopped.

That's how I found out what I wanted —

not from any honest reckoning

but from a coin landing right and saving me

the trouble of remembering

I'd already decided.

I texted sorry, can't make it tonight.

Outside, a car alarm went off twice.

The quarter sat tails-up in the light,

doing its job.

I put it in my pocket. Made coffee.

Stood by the window and watched the street —

people moving toward things they'd already

chosen before they knew.