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Debris"The police admitted that they were so overwhelmed by the quantity of wreckage...that their tracking and labeling practices were flawed."
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There is, under all this, a floor.
Debris does not leach through to the basement.
I turn over layers of newsprint to reveal:
at least one source of hairball smells
a book loaned by a friend
receipts from non-deductibles
a statement of my phone activity 6 months ago
an unanswered love letter.
I still feel the light stride
of a cockroach tramping down my arm,
while dressed for black tie in my sleek bronze gown.
I admit that no one
has come through my door with a gun
in over 20 years.
I rise to take pruning shears and a fire extinguisher
to the very Sacred Heart of Jesus.
Touch bone, touch lock, touch floor.
It is time to sort this debris into refuse.
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