I wanted to write a lot of things

back then about the little apartment with the white walls

and waking up with sun on my face alone except for the dog

and drinking vodka and Diet Coke starting

every day at two p.m. when the bus dropped me off by the street and I walked

across the dappled asphalt lot, under the brimming oaks

to the cool inside and glass clinking against not enough

linoleum counter space.

Instead of writing

about drinking I just drank some more. Instead of writing about

the trees I stayed in the cool living room and let the light die around me

and the year die around me taking college with it.

I wanted a way to document the forgetting and to hold it still.

But it’s already dark outside and you’re coming in to take your shoes off and

turn the lamp on and eat whatever’s about to

go bad in the fridge.