A Good Feeling

A Good Feeling

I have a good feeling about it,
I say, or, I don’t have a good
feeling about it. Not a conscience,

or a charm. More like a faulty
pilot light, warmth or a sudden
draft, no good feeling there.

Who knows if my antilogic
knows anything, steering me
into one apartment over another,

pulling unwise honesty or silence
from me like a magician’s string
of handkerchiefs. Decisions

from such small reassurance,
a flame surfacing or hibernating,
a whole person consulting some

tiny, fiery impulse, a glimpse
of the satisfaction to follow
should we properly recognize

the feeling. Pleasure. Pride.
Inserting definite articles into
our plans for narration, the

right move, the perfect time,
the best option. I told me so,
we long to say to ourselves,

testing small mouthfuls of how
the future could look to see
if we should drink it down.