You wake up in the jolted darkness. 

You wonder if the gust was in your dream.  

To the sound of people sleeping with their mouths opened. 

You don't agree to it. 

To the sounds of mice nipping at the trailer. 

I did not forget you. 

To obliterate everything, your mind fills with the urge  
to pee, but you do not agree to walk out in the desert,  
which smells of pee and creosote bush, which smells  
like mothballs.  

In the cold that preserves what the heat of the day has caught
and killed. 

In the psychopathic look of the stars. 

I did not forget you. 

You don't read stars or books or people unless they are angry  
or horny and grope inside your bag of refuse, as they struggle 
to find out what they are looking for. 
 
I did not forget you.  

You wish the night and you were miscible 
so you get better at becoming invisible.  
 
You know it is dead, but you reach for your cell phone.  

You look at it in the darkness. 

Did not forget you. 

______

Finalist , Mānoa Journal Poetry Contest 2025