See the glow
from a laptop screen,
a bag on a gray blanket,
a notification from her: “babe
stop, breathe.”
beams radiating
from the lamp atop the desk.
Touch black sweater
with sleeves stretched and holey,
keys O-K-A-Y-backspace-
backspace-
backspace-
backspace,
concealer tube shade 125-Fair,
this isn't fair,
window sill coated
in fine layer
of dust disturbed
by the tip of a finger gliding.
Listen to the hum
of the ceiling fan,
the creek of the floorboards
underneath your mother's knobbly feet,
the cicadas screeching
the scent of mid-September night
and crushed almonds,
taste undertones
of her toothpaste
left on your tongue.
