first narrow bars of light through the slits in the blinds…

a thatch of hair in the brush, fingernail parings by the edge of the sink…

 

percussive splatter of coffee grounds against the plastic liner…

slow rising sound as water from the tap fills the bottle…

 

dervish of steam from the humidifier whirling in the morning sun…

 

wallet and keys on the mantel, stray pennies, nail file, stamps…the idea of the day starts to form…

 

muffled sound of the shower upstairs…

the duvet, lofted, settles on the bed like a quiet exhalation…

a slick of warm vodka in the glass on the bedside table, pills in a row

~

jumping vein in the hand on the desk…

cursor ticking, cleaning lenses—waiting…

the doorknob holds my miniature portrait…

 

at last I catch the tail of yesterday’s work: words slowly notching the page upward on the screen…

 

the faint stop-start of the mail truck toiling up the hill…

wheezy protestations of the old desk chair…

 

a breath of warm air as I walk past the dryer in the hall…

dull buffeting thud of sneakers…

 

eucalyptus leaves strewn on the dark wood of the dining room table…

a pair of reading glasses, splayed, holding the sky…

leaf shadow vibrates on the wall by the front door…

 

wind picks up…a door claps shut somewhere upstairs…

shopping list on the counter held down by a salt shaker: breadcrumbs, eggs, cumin—the corner lifts…

 

sun and clouds—I see the small honey jar on kitchen sill light up for a moment…

rumpled gray throw on the couch like a sleeping animal…

~

 

binoculars upright on the shelf by the window…

the far corners slowly darken…

 

squirrel on the porch rail—an eyebrow wagging…

trees out back start inching in closer…

 

promotions and coupons on the bench by the door…

gloves and scarves in the basket…

the hallway mirror, split-second disbelief…

 

last glint of sun picks out the silver radio dial …

 

~

 

red wine shadow wavering on the cutting board…

 

rough crumply skin of the shallot peeled, bright glistening purple…

red onion, halved—bullseye…

abrupt whoosh of the gas…

 

lights on—the big windows fill with the ghost of the room…

 

and the evening gradually tapers…

 

I imagine the late-night dog-walker looking over, watching the erratic trail of our lights going out…

 

fourteen steps going up—I count them carefully in the dark…

_

Sven Birkerts is co-editor of the journal AGNI based at Boston University. He lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, and is at work on a sectional mosaic about the literary life.

Art by Sheila Squillante