Umma’s been at Store for twelve hours. I retire
to the couch. I do not mind its debris.
outside, it is two pm: the burst of sunlight before the set. my big brother
snores from the basement. I hear him rise to
piss in a plastic bottle. I stretch into the grey upholstery,
pondering, again, how the winter sun masquerades as hot,
how I bear its deception