The Glasses

by Sarah Gawricki

I’ve strained everything I’ve ever owned in my life
including my eyes
so I can’t see

your car is gone,
the way life unfolds without interference,
the ant hill I just stepped on,
or your sad smile that one time I didn’t notice the
grinning contingency roses,
contingent on whether or not you
decided earlier in the day
to start shit.

The boxes in the corner,
the cat’s nascent behavioral problems,
the missing incense holder,
the empty toiler paper roll,
the moribund note,
the last piece of vegan toffee,
the ants plotting their revenge in the corner,
the forgotten ice cube on the floor,
your wilting gray heart,
my feelings about where our stuff should go
(back to Boulder),
the sunset in the distance,
God’s fingers,

further than my impatient little nose.


One thought on “The Glasses

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s