I’ve lost something and I can’t describe
what it is

line

and what if that’s my job
to say how empty an absence is

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like rolling 2 gears together
and maybe teeth are missing in one
or both

line

or maybe trying to grind
two stones that are
polished and smoothed

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I’ve always liked
a little grit

line

but sand in my shoes
or in my hair

line

is like shattering
a glass in carpet
and using a broom to
get it out

line

I can’t describe
what it’s like to
sit on opposite ends
of a park bench and
not know how
to get any closer

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I miss so many things
and I’ve looked through my piggy
bank and only found pennies

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a pile of things that are
almost completely worthless

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a shoebox full of sporks
a well with a bucket and a rope
that’s too short

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sometimes in my room
it’s so dark that if I wake
up I won’t know if it’s morning or night

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imagine being someplace you know
so well but are lost and don’t have any idea
how to get out

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the rule is, put your right hand out
lay it on the wall, and follow

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sometimes the rules don’t apply to all of us
I don’t want to sleep here again tonight

Poets

Kenyatta Rogers