on an Icelandic hill
meteorologist monitors chill
she is not lonely
numbers and charts accompany
a three month assignment
she swallows lots of supplements
she can’t go home
but she’s glad to avoid his tone
in the quiet and computer noise
she begins to talk without poise
“Come on, can’t take a joke?”
half mimicking his familiar yoke
she cries to the buzzes and whirs
even now it hurts her
when her replacement comes
he finds her hung

work
sleep
talk
repeat

to feel so crazy and normal
to feel so cute and big
to feel so comfortable and dedicated
to feel so careful and lazy
I feel those contradictions

in a rock tumbler
I get bruised
tumbling around
but I come out
shiny and smooth

she will always love noodles
with oil or from a can
you can’t stop her
she will always get noodles