almost something
early morning, but not too early for the mother
to get ready for another 9-5. for her husband, made visible
by his graveyard shift. sleepless, is their daughter
scrolling on her phone past midnight.
it is now the half-lit hour,
hour of nothingness. a dog owner tramples the
yellow grass with their dogs’ feet. the streets are made
of car exhaust and of exhausted drivers. the morning moon is
suddenly a new sun. and like a reader reading the same
sentence over, i can’t move forward from the past.
