Beneath the Sink

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Beneath the Sink


Not much room to wiggle 

your elbows or get anything 

like torque behind

the wrench, and did I mention

how the rusted nut 

of the world is tucked so far

back you just have to feel 

for it, eyes crawling on the cobwebs

you let spread under 

the cabinet while your fingers

fumble for a catch, that tightening

you’ve come to connect 

as potential, the grip that keeps you 

coming back to spend the long afternoon 

of your life chasing the chance

that like a breath, like water 

from the rock, suddenly it loosens.


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