Poem a Day 2026

 

I’ve trespassed
into a new 
part of myself
that isn’t full. 

Where I find 

myself walking 

but stopping 

and not knowing

why I am walking, 

then I see 

buildings for what 

they are: not homes, 

but walls

stacked on 

walls. 

and I’m 

standing in 

my bathroom 

realizing there 

are only three 

doors between 

me and you all. 

three doors between

my bare body 

and the street, 

between me 

and the River, 

the trash

in the River, 

the choking estuary, 

coughing up 

whale sightings. 

I pay rent 

to put three doors 

between me and 

the street.