every mirror in this house has a crack somewhere
i know which ones to stand at so i look whole
the rest i pass with my eyes on the carpet
the way you pass a dog that has bitten you before
i was born loud, the nurse said listen to those lungs
and everyone in the room laughed with relief
i think i was already asking for the receipt
my shadow goes into rooms ahead of me now
says something low and the party turns toward the door
by the time i arrive everyone is suddenly tired
i heard it once on the stairs, doing my voice
i keep the wasted days in the drawer with the dead batteries
and the key to a lock i can’t remember
some nights i take them out and count them like a person who still believes in refunds
i prayed once and got the greeting, this mailbox is full
i could hear them stacked in there, better people, longer messages
i hung up before the beep, out of manners
they said we come into this world gold
mine went the color of the pennies in the dish by the door
everyone walks past them, nobody bends down
i have stood in that doorway waiting to be worth the bend
i have gotten so good at losing
keys, umbrellas, two friends, the name of a song, the way home from a party
i stopped turning around to check
so when the last thing goes missing and it turns out to be me
a coat left on a train at least gets a tag and a shelf and ninety days
i never sewed my name into anything
my phone will ring in the pocket the whole way to the last stop
and whoever boards at the end of the line will turn me over twice and set me back on the seat
—lyra moon (the print shop spelled the name wrong on all two hundred programs)
october 29, 2026