Low One

I walk barefoot on the driveway
where microscopic glass cuts into
my skin like the edges of a million
swords scattered on a microscopic battlefield.
I am cleaning out my car
while she walks the cat around the yard
on a lead so he can watch the birds
up close for once and not behind
the glass.

There are moldy sweaters in the trunk
I’ve let get soaked by snow and rain
without giving them much thought
until right now when I am scrapping
them off the fabric of the interior.
They are far too ruined to be donated
so I place them on top of the other trash
like a baby in a basket into a river
to be carried somewhere better.

I sit on the curb afterward
looking at my dirty hands
and listen for her footsteps
that I never hear from where
I’ve taken refuge.
Part of me wants it all to fall apart
because it would make it so
much easier to run away
and never kneel again.
Although I know deep down
that people are the purpose here,
on this bright blue spinning sphere,
and so I’ll stick around
as long as she still needs me.

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