The moon, a fingernail of light tonight,
appears, and I return home late. I don’t
have anywhere else to be, and you don’t
have anywhere else to go. I unpack groceries,
stuffing the plastic bag into a drawer
with other plastic bags. “We should throw
these out,” I say. “We’re never going to use
them.” You agree, but your heart isn’t in it.
I should know. You like to keep everything.
Michelle Brooks has published a three collections of poetry, Make Yourself Small, (Backwaters Press), Pretty in A Hard Way (Finishing Line Press), and The Pretend Life (Atmosphere Press). She has also published a novella, Dead Girl, Live Boy, (Storylandia Press). A native Texan, she has spent much of her adult life in Detroit.