sometimes

sometimes
I forget
that my phone is a pane of glass and precious metals
fused into a sleek rectangle
that I could hurl into a brick wall
at any moment

sometimes
I forget
that my own volition
holds the keys to the portal door,
that nothing beams to my awareness
without pushing a button
and typing in a PIN code

sometimes
I forget
that my phone is a mirror
for my own fears and desires,
that algorithmic gremlins
who know me better
than friends and family
work to keep me fed —
so they can eat my attention

sometimes
I remember
that the landline phone
stayed tethered to the wall
and was never stared into
just to see
what’s happening

sometimes
I remember
that I don’t need to know
everything that’s happening
everywhere on earth
all of the time

sometimes
I remember
that “No”
can truly be
the greatest expression of love

sometimes
I notice
the reflection of a tree
and wonder
how often my phone
reflects
the world
around me.