What I Didn’t See

I thought bills would fold like paper,

neatly stacked, easy to manage,

not edges rough and catching like splinters.

The envelope stamps fade,

the kitchen table a battlefield

of quiet battles and muted losses.

Cold cereal in the morning,

letters with overdue notices,

small storms I carry in my hands.

Adulthood—

a room lit by flickering bulbs,

where freedom is a question

and answers slip through cracks unseen.