The detritus of our lives
accumulates: the high-heeled
leapord-spotted, open-toed shoes
bought for a party that could never
live up to what I wanted
perched in the corner,
still waiting; laundry unfolded,
stuffed into drawers that never quite close;
books unread; pill bottles uncapped, some
medication needed to soothe
whatever might remain, whatever will take me
from one day to the next.