She hangs up black curtains
To keep the time out
Crusts of pizza
Stuck to plates
She keeps forgetting to wash
Nails that need painting
Teeth that need a dentist
Carpets that haven’t seen a vacuum
In a long, long time
She did go to the dollar store
And get a few candles
To light up
For when the blizzard hits
There’s no blizzard predicted yet
But winter’s only a few months away
And she knows that the new apartment
Is right in the sweet spot
For all the bad weather
That’s why she picked it
But she told her mother
It was because
Utilities were included
She finds time for emptying out the pantry
And sorting the wedding invitations
But opening up the curtains
And letting some good old-fashioned daylight in
Isn’t something she can get around to
There are no clocks
The one on the stove is taped over
With black duct tape
She found in the everything drawer
Her phone sits in a box
In her bedroom closet
Buzzing every so often
Even though she hasn’t charged it
In days
She wonders what the buzzing could be
Since she doesn’t talk to anybody
And nobody ever wants to talk to her
A pile of books
Sits next to her bed
All of them in Latin
Some she means to translate
When she can work up the energy
Her clothes are clean
So there’s that at least
Her hair is a mess
But it’s not dirty
The shower is fine
The bathroom sink is fine
The space between the tiles
Is still white
There are clues everywhere
That her life
Is not the shambles
She knows it is
Specks of light escape around the black curtains
She’s hung over every window
And she thinks about buying more curtains
To hang around the edges of the ones
That are already there
Would that keep the light out
Or would it keep trickling onward
Like the toppled glass of iced tea
She keeps forgetting to mop up
Despite her best efforts
She knows when it’s early
And when it’s late
She notices a calmness in herself
As soon as the specks are gone
And the black curtains seem to relax
As if whatever they’ve been holding back
Has retreated for the time being
Her couch comes up around her
And the television goes from food
To news
To home design
Someone walks by in the hallway
A door opens
Then shuts
She grabs a blanket off the floor
And wraps herself up in it
There’s a quiet way
Time evaporates
When you hide it
Behind something
It’s not that she’s never owned clocks
She just shut them up
In boxes of Christmas decorations
Two—maybe three years ago?
The money in the bank account
Is running low
So she’ll have to call her father
In about a week
And get more put in there
He’ll make a comment
About her getting on with her life
Which will make the muscles in her throat seize up
But she’ll tell herself
That it’s the price she has to pay
To keep things
The way they are
She hears birds chirping outside
But she knows it’s late
Very late
The birds get confused
By the street lights
Someone told her that once
The poor things
Convinced it’s time to sing
When it’s really time to sleep
I’ll sleep for you, she thinks
Organizing herself
Amongst the steady cushions
And the lazy water bottle
Her eyes close
And hours later
The tiny pieces of light
Crawl back along the edge
Of the black curtains
And push back against
All the darkness
They can find
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