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.