The Space In Between Me
I drive home at
Ninety miles an hour
From somewhere to
No where
I sing along to the music
Which I have turned up
As loud as I can bear
My window is down
When I get home
The clock on my dashboard
Which is sixteen minutes slow
Reads “long-since-bedtime”
The front door is locked
The dog is in a corner
Asleep, snoring
The stairs creak
There are seven different
Piles of laundry
On my bed, my table
And my floor
My homework is not done
And I have already
Called in sick to work
For tomorrow
When my boss asks
Me why
I am absent
I tell her that
It is because
I am preoccupied
With the incredible pressure
Of actually being human
I spend these
Stolen hours
Writing poems
About blue doors
Because I like the feeling
Of streetlight
On my freckles
And I like the taste
Of saucy jazz music
Rolling over my tongue
Like carbonation
Or new kisses
I don’t get
Enough sleep
I don’t write
Enough thank-you notes
I drive too far
I use too much paint
I blow too many bubbles
I write too many poems
When you ask me
Where have I been and
What have I done and
Why didn’t I answer your phone call?
The glitter
Of a chipped river
In the corner of my eye
Is an apology
Because I know that I am
Not the daughter you meant
To give birth to
