Mattress Gap

I push the mattress, just a hair,

to find the wall, scratch an itch

I didn't know I had.

And there it is:

a continent of dust, gray

like forgotten feelings.

A petrified dust bunny,

fat as my thumb, coated in hair.

Some of it, probably, mine.

A contact lens, dried stiff,

curled like a tiny, clear fingernail.

What was I looking at then?

What did I miss?

And a bobby pin,

black once, now red with rust,

a thin, sharp accusation.

All the small things

that fall through the cracks,

collecting

in the quiet shame

of edges.