I haven’t been noticing
how many butterflies there are
in my city. I stopped

hearing the distant noise
of the leaf blower. Lately
even water tastes bitter.

I forget to observe how
brilliant M&M contrails look
swirled around in my

oatmeal. And I don’t feel a pull
under my rib-cage when I
hear a fly tapping

the window over
and over. Lately I stopped
sensing the soft blanket tucked

under my chin. I haven’t
really been paying attention
to how at 4 p.m.

when the light shines through
the window dust dances
in the room. How the same window

rattles when a train hums by.
I haven’t been paying attention
to what is lying in the corner

that those are maggots
not marbles
laughing across the floor.

Rachel Rix is an MFA student at Sierra Nevada University. She currently resides in Sacramento, California with her husband Adam.