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Same on the table as the floor: the scattered
whispering papers like a falling snow
me stepping lightly around letter mounds,
logs of wishes and groceries. This is much
more domestic than I'd imagined
life in mail collapse, bills in paper puddles
me on the floor scrubbing them up
scraping amounts from my wallet
to cover the cost of another growth spurt-
new shoes, shirts, pants. More food
(and where does he fit it all?) This tumble
of to-do intimidates me. I will hide. I've run
out of checks and am counting lentils.
I am cooking soups with salt broths
to keep up with the constant ingestion
of earning energy ounce by ounce.