Sonnet Attempt from a Distracted Mind By Katy Comber It still churns in my mind. Sometimes. The ghost of you and Home and that salty sweet, “Why?” Peppered yolk runs. Easy eggs miss the toast. I nibble, swallow, throat dry, but still try to rearrange that sloppy compartment of you: magnets, coupons, dust, and Joker card with its corner bent, lives free of rent in my mind. Hazed mental state. “You broke her.” I found it. Cracked. Wrong time. The old wristwatch. There’s a whistling, a forgotten Kettle. Mind shifts, local report: Sighting! Sasquatch! I worry about long hair in nettle. I shake my head. Press delete. Look to light. Wonder—if I need to say, I’m alright.
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