Logarithmic Speed Trap


This is the small space I occupy,
two square inches where my ear presses to the phone
while I tell you happy birthday.
Golden hour cuts through the blinds
to trace itself along the bed
while you tell me about how time
is a logarithmic speed trap.
You won’t even see it coming at you, you say.
Our conversations hover
over funeral plots.

April is National Poetry Month, so I’m publishing poetry for NaPoWriMo throughout the month.