The Reach That Isn't Enough

I tripped on it again this morning,

that orange cord—a kind of warning

running across the floor like a scar,

the reach that isn't quite far.

It's been three weeks now,

and I still don't know how

to fix it, to hide it, to make it right,

to buy something longer, to end this slight.

The plug is probably a fire hazard,

the cord itself worn and battered,

but I haven't bought a longer one,

and so this temporary thing just goes on.

It doesn't hide behind the furniture well,

it announces itself, it wants to tell

everyone: this is not enough reach,

this is what we're doing, this is what we teach.

The heater's on the far wall,

the laptop on the bed, that's all,

and between them is this orange line,

fraying at one end, almost fine

in its imperfection, its staying,

its quiet way of saying

that sometimes the reach that isn't enough

has to be enough, and that's tough.