by Bryce Johle
I don’t know which is Yin
and which is Yang,
when or if she purposely left
the white half in my backpack,
but I stuff it in as I pack,
and a morsel of me feels luck.
I throw my bag in the backseat
and drive.
It might be weeks
I will be gone.
At the top of my neck, the hidden
pocket of my consciousness,
the spotted, milky teardrop
is an unmentionable,
magnetically drawn to its
complement
as if the I Ching merged itself,
pro tempore, into my lane
at a vital moment
to bring me back home
that same weekend
Sunday after church.
© Bryce Johle
Bryce Johle’s work has appeared in Parentheses Journal, October Hill Magazine, Maudlin House, and Star*82 Review, among others. His chapbook, Airplane Graveyard, will be published by Finishing Line Press in September of 2024. He lives in Pittsburgh, PA, where he baristas the weekends away.
Find out more on Instagram @bryce.johle.
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