What Collects

The charger had been back there two days.

I pressed my arm into the gap,

back of the hand flat against the wall—

cold, like it had been waiting—

and came up with the cord,

a hair tie, a pen with no cap,

and a folded receipt.

Pharmacy. I could read the date

from the fold alone.

I didn't open it.

I knew what months those were.

Put it in the trash still creased.

Pushed the mattress back.

Lay down.

Didn't sleep. Just the ceiling

and the dark along the edges

and whatever's still down there

I didn't reach.