in the morning
thought lies in ruin.
the air smells different,
not like coffee brewed,
but unsettled sleep,
unsettled dust.
it feels almost impossible.
a steel beam across my chest
would feel lighter.
it’s grey in the bedroom
painted light yellow.
most mornings
the walls rise
to meet me,
printed in patterns of sunlight,
matching our orange quilt,
so that the room glows.
i find the walls have been torn down
so there is no reason to sit up,
no reason to let out the light.
no reason even to search for survivors
under the wreckage
even if i could move.
soundless,
no human voice
can resist silence,
no desperate thought
reach above empty space.
i am the only one who can live
in the aftermath of hate.
maybe, yes, no,
a cat meows
above all that remains.
sounds hungry or cruel.
i cannot tell.
maybe i should try to get up
to feed it even if it bites me.
time cannot move slower.
unless it is already evening.
while i tried to decide
what to think, the cat has moved on.
maybe you fed it on your way out.
maybe you left without saying goodbye.
did you look for me under here?
i am buried in broken thoughts.
i hope you do not return to save me.