I signed the form for the thing in the beginning of the year
when the beginning of the year had that particular clear
light on the possible — I went the first time with genuine investment,
went the second time with slightly less, and that was the assessment.
The instructor has my absence noted on the roster with some professionalism;
she hasn’t reached out. I haven’t explained the mechanism.
The seat I used to fill is just the seat that fills with someone punctual,
and the thing I signed up for continues without the additional.
The enthusiasm I used to have for it is somewhere in the building —
just under the surface, under the ceiling
of this specific stretch. I haven’t lost it; I’ve misplaced the access,
somewhere between the second and the third visit.
My friend has been going since we both enrolled on the same evening,
mentioned it with the casual ease of someone who’s not leaving.
The thing she signed up for is the thing she actually does now,
the enthusiasm she had and still has and I had and don’t somehow.
I’ll go back when the going back feels like the natural re-entry,
when the beginning-of-the-year feeling reasserts with genuine sentry.
The enthusiasm I used to have is in the neighborhood somewhere.
The enthusiasm I used to have.
It’s still in there.