I sit here, and I don’t notice the dirty dishes, left lyingin the sinkI don’t stare at the holes in the wall, strange and unexplainedI don’t ponder the fishbowl, tipped over on the floor,or the color the light makes as it bounces off thebroken 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 rootsof my hair

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

Because I’ve noticedThat noticing just makes it feel less like

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