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Sep 2014
Hair string across your bathroom floor
I never hated the yellow light
Like your other friends
But the tiles were always catching my criticism
From the time I spilled oatmeal granola
In your kitchen while you held the milk in your
Hands, laughing as I stumbled after the mess
(Now I know that Sunday mornings aren’t supposed
To be neither clean neither spotless)
To the Wednesday afternoon we spent holding
Galaxies in our palms by your door while it rained
(Now I know music is not just
For sounds or dry escapes)
But most of all, to the Friday I walked onto your
Tiles and felt vacancy in all but one spot
Where you left behind a map as if to
Say, clean up your mess this time
(Now I know that these lettered days
Are just pathways, not destinations)
Written by
KKM  Toronto.
     namii, Towela Kams, Em Draper, ---, SPT and 1 other
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