I pass over
the obituaries in the paper now,
the remainders too small,
like the six years
I have on my father
Pushing deep
Into the next decade
I uncover unrecognizable
contours of myself,
the long highway and myriad country roads
criss-crossing my face,
slipstiched sentences
dropping words like acorns
Sometimes I search
the entire house
for the glasses on my head,
group portraits for faces
visible but missing
And I sleep
attached to the world by
slendering threads
that could snap painlessly
on a day just like this.
— Ilene Millman
Ilene Millman is a member of the US1 poet’s co-op.
