Graduate

My diploma is in my drawer, unframed, 

idly wasting under a wad of index cards.

My spot in the driveway is free, I’ve never owned a car.

I made a sheet of applications,

employer, title, salary, link—

it’s mostly red, The red screen, it never blinks.

It watches while I sit and scroll

and every sundae bought

in the guise of self-care.

I’m waiting (crying and praying) to hear back from

(let’s count) seventeen jobs now—

McDonalds and movie theaters

and the ones I went to school for.

There’s no schedule or map or teacher

or assignment or essay or grade

or deadline or paycheck or anything more.

There is only me and the pile of dishes

that take up residence by my door,

Kyrie Dunning is a Cal Poly Humboldt English graduate and writer. She won the Jodi Stutz Poetry Award and has been published in Toyon Literary Magazine. She spends her time trying to write novels and playing with her cats.