How It Works

I sit here, and I don’t notice the dirty dishes, left lying
in the sink
I don’t stare at the holes in the wall, strange and unexplained
I don’t ponder the fishbowl, tipped over on the floor,
or the color the light makes as it bounces off the
broken mirror

I do not wonder about the skittering in the attic,
And I don’t think about the ceiling tiles,
slowly chipping down, and gathering in the roots
of my hair

I sit here, and I don’t notice anything,
As the browning shutters bang against the wall like the wings
of a caged bird

Because I’ve noticed
That noticing just makes it feel less like

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