NEIGHBOR

Noon comes in yellow through the window and where there is light there are floating particles
lingering

on your way out you stirred up the dust in the house like shallows of a clear pond
one foot kicks
up nine months worth of settled muck and it slides between toes and the feet biting fish are invisible in the messy water.
You’re gone
money to a broken vending machine
sunshine in two billion years.

A bulb broke
then sent currents up my arm and down my spine as I twisted in a new one
charred fingertips
write letters to you in black and white drawings with no address I save
$0.00 on postage.

I’m a queen
rocking on my wooden throne with cigarettes laced between each finger wondering
who drank the gin?