Ground Level

The room is still mostly boxes and good intentions,

and the mattress is a foam slab on the floor

that doesn't have an edge to tell me where the world starts.

I woke up late and tried to find my slippers

but I stubbed my toe on the dense, cold corner,

a dull thud that echoed in my own shin bone.

The sheet pulled back and showed the manufacturer's tag,

yellowed and crinkled, warning me about the law,

and I just sat there in the gray light of the morning

feeling the hardwood through the bottom of the foam,

wondering when I’m going to stop living like a guest

in a place where I’m the only one who has a key.