Picking Kernels

By Yash Seyedbagheri

When the theater reopens, I go to a matinee. A comedy, I think.

I try to savor popcorn and greasy butter; the tub’s unwieldy. The seat to my right’s empty.

Once my older sister Nancy and I laughed in unison. Once, we fought over popcorn, hands diving into buttered seas.

We yelled out lines, smiled at each other, whispered our nicknames. Nicky, Nan, Nanny, Saint Nick.

People trickle in, rattling off virus statistics like baseball scores.

I get up to leave. Knock over the popcorn.

I try to pick up a kernel. It slips.

I can’t pick things up. Too soon.