Monday, May 31, 2010


There's intersections I've mindlessly crossed,
and the corners of grocery store produce sections over which my eye has passed,

a root broken square in the sidewalk travelled daily on the way home from the bus stop, and
that certain shade of 3 p.m. mid-November light that

you can't exactly name, but innately know all the same.
These details are the minutiae of a life, too trivial to romanticize in any poem,
(for honestly, who'd care?)

but the fact that you're smiling right now,

quietly to yourself as you read these lines
, that that is not the case.