And by unravel I mean unfold into
the tiny houses, the boxed disasters,
the predictable misfortunes of
the safe bet. Into that particular
undoing.
Into who breaks the glass, who sweeps it up,
who makes the soup, who dries the dish,
who buys the paper, who pays the piper,
who wants lights out, who needs quiet,
who brings the rose petals, who refuses,
who gets more, who gets less.
Who wakes up in the middle
of the night. Into blankness.
Into the simple fact of invisibility.
Who chooses this version
of the story. Who does not.