What Lingers
Sometimes a splash of brown
just to the side of my vision.
In the woods, near the compost,
grass matted flat.
At night, the click of claws
on the deck, a bark at the neighbor’s
where now there are only cats.
Something slides beneath my eyelids,
goes neon when I squeeze
tight for a better glimpse.
I might catch the odd floater
on the horizon. I might think
I’ve just seen a snake.
There is an apple
on my kitchen counter
and somewhere my mother,
pairing knife in hand,
ready to slice it for a snack.
2/22/10
The Secret Lives of Things 