The Rest of Me

April 21, 2017

The apartment is quiet.
You are still sleeping
in the other room.
It’s just past eight,
late for you.

I hear the whir of the fan
in the corner, feel its breeze
address my right forearm.

My sweatshirt sleeves are pushed up,
the rest of me under the comforter,
somehow warm and cold
at the same time.

Periodically, a car drives by,
above my head, past the
window of our basement
apartment.

Where do they have to go?
I wonder.
I could half-sit here forever
clicking these keys,
finding anything while
moving only my fingers.

Katherine Botsis

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