the unread emails in an inbox
the stack of takeaway containers
the laps on an elliptical
the wane of a flower
the reprieve of more sleep
the escape of a short walk
the edge of the unexplored
the doom scrolling before bed
the two steps back of half-truths
the pall of pandemic limbo
the rain of bricks from the sky
O friend who schleps inside the wheel
the expanse of barren days
forward can be in any direction
after “Surah” by Tarfia Faizullah
