as i empty the teacup
i offer as ashtray
to friends who like to smoke,
under a streak of sunlight,
i contemplate
my place in the world;
if this is in any way
meaningful.
sad, happy
and pretending,
i'm often confused
about identity.
leaning against the sink
reluctant to do the dishes,
i contemplate
my place in the world.
at twenty two
and freer,
i may be
miscommunicating.
throwing away
forgotten,
and rotten vegetables
from the refrigerator,
i contemplate
my place in the world.
i may be
absolutely wrong
about everything,
but for now
i clean.