We heard only

the shudder of a jet

approaching louder,

but it could have been

the end of the world,

and it wouldn’t have

mattered. I was in

the kitchen, washing

dishes, soaring through

the window, the light

that brilliance right

before the mist takes

over, speakers sounding

a kind of blue almost

remembered. You were

here but not, close

enough where I could

turn my head to see

you somewhere

else. No dog clattered

worn tags on the linoleum

floor, a swell of

piano and engine

converging at

the exact moment

where my hands slipped

under filmy water, the crash

of glass on enamel

so much quieter

than I ever imagined.

______________________________________________

Marci Vogel attends USC’s PhD Program in Literature and Creative Writing as a Provost Fellow. Her work has been published in FIELD, Puerto del Sol, ZYZZYVA, Anti-, and the Seneca, Colorado, and Atlas reviews.