you lay down next to me and look at your phone.
im watching something too. isn't this what people do these days?
you're shifting moving searching for something not in this room
i wish i knew what you're looking for.
i am inheriting diabetes and guilt and overbearing love
from my parents
this is when the smallest sliver of light breaks on your window grills (the sun never reaches your side of the house) and
you have your rituals with your lights. you hate the unforgiving white tube light in your eyes
you change the light - softer and warmer through an application on your phone. the lights are app-enabled these days.
how could i possibly compile a litany of reasons to be angry at you?
you don't really want to leave this house
i don't want you to leave me
Really enjoyed the use of light as the primary metaphor for this poem. It creates a clever chiaroscuro.
ReplyDelete