When I fumble my keys,

“clash” says the hardwood

floor, like the sound of quarters

slipping between the washing

machine, missing buttons tumble

against the dryer’s hot metal.


The rabbit cage rattles, picture

frames quake on my wall

beyond the neighbor’s door,

overcome with wind or rage.

A hard slam I can swallow

rumbles deep inside my chest.


A noodle plops like a flip-flop

on the kitchen tile. I bend, lift

it from the stick, fit it like a puzzle

piece in my mouth. It falls again.


I jumble my words when you

wipe your feet on “Welcome,”

rearrange them into a sloppy

question about your day.


You scratch your head, point

at the bruises on my knees.

“I slipped” I frame the phrase

on my lips, and it’s crooked.

2 thoughts on “Slippage

  1. Alexa

    I love this poem, and I love the image you chose to accompany it, especially because it’s one of the strongest images in the poem. Rock those words.


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