Reflections on a Weeknight

There’s the silent hum of the fan,

the tumble of the dryer

the quiet heat of humidity

pressing against the window pane.

The TV’s been off

for hours now

the tell-tale sound

of missing footsteps crowds the night

Books surround the room on shelves

millions of words swarming and unspoken

waiting for a chance

a breath

the opportunity to be cracked open

From this one stationary spot

the world revolves and pauses;

the world does not care.

The mundane moves on.