Future

the two of us sit on thin carpet
separating sharp tail bones from
concrete’s expansive hardness by an inch

she is sprawling
her mind leafs unfalteringly through the textbook on her lap
smudged pencil lead
growing dark within her nail beds

i am folding laundry
the funny way of doing underwear that my mom taught me
the way t-shirt folds are
all in the wrist
and I suddenly worry that

she’ll scramble up from carpet to couch to
adjustable office chair and
i’ll slowly spread over this
cement floor.

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