Mug Hooks

My disjointed belongings are lost amongst themselves.

My clothes have met my decor for the first time and

spent nearly a month together in the dark.

I miss knowing exactly where my hands will fall

along the wall after 5 steps

down the hall

walking with my eyes closed.

I check my footing gliding across the floor slowly.

Cold ceramic hits the tip of my toe.

I hear a clink.

I balance myself pulling back.

What follows is a barrage of my beloved mugs

teetering on the carpet.

I haven’t found their hooks yet.

– Monet J.