deep breaths and quiet murmurs
take up more space
than chatter, clinking glasses, and toasts.
the air feels stuffy and thick
polluted with grief, clouded with misery.
the static from sorrow resonates
on muffled frequencies.

it seems i’m tuned to FM
too often to hear
every sigh
cough
swallow
and grunt
that rest unmasked in AM

the acknowledgements page
is skipped over, skimmed through
to get to the good parts.
what happens when that page
is dog-eared and bookmarked
when we are thrown in
no life vests
to swim to the next line

this is shuffling feet and awkward balance
it’s ice water crying, bleeding on wood
it’s 5 o’clock shadow and mismatched socks
wrinkled dresses, broken zippers, and frayed rope
it’s the depths of our lives when we’ve strayed on the outskirts.
it’s a dimly lit candle, flickering in the dark
illuminating the dust left forgotten on the nightstand.
this is the grit, the film on the lens
this is muddy water

it’s crumbling walls that hit speeding cars
danger: falling rocks.
skinned knees and bruised elbows.
this is it.
the hum of the dryer, the drip of the faucet.
the things that never bothered you
when you cancelled out the background noise.
this is the shifting light of night to dawn
telling us, yes - of course, there is more.