a soft yellow light
and a palette on the floor
made from old blankets
still cozy, though tore
the tick of a clock
as it draws circles on the wall
the hum of a furnace
and the roll of a ball
that you drop without thinking
waiting
expecting it
to bounce back into your hand
like it already had
again and again
the drop of your heart
it rolls under the refrigerator
you accept you must part
and expect to see it later
and now ten years later
the ball has rot beneath the fridge
seeing only the bottom of your shoes
seeing only a smidge
but it was there when your feet
grew from size four to size nine
and it was there every time
you lay on the kitchen floor
and cried
and it was there even though
it had slipped from your mind
and it carried the dust
that had fallen from time
and for the first time
in years
you swept under your refrigerator
and you got to find
a ball that sat there
all this long long time
and you picked it up
bounced it once again
you wondered where it came from
and tossed it in the bin
a forgotten thing
like most things will be
you slide your fridge back
empty and clean
