(Untitled) by laura morgan

Trying to figure it out.

Sitting at the kitchen table
trying to figure out what I have to show for all these years of living.

Mind ponders, and I peer across the sitting room.
Peer out the window
through hazy sheer
where
propane gas cylinders stand side by side
all sage green and rusty red on a truckbed

beautiful to me,
shocking white cautionary flammable gas warning and all.

All is quiet, and I sit, 
seized by the irony

of a life-sized still-life not wholey unlike my memories:
forty-six years of foggy recollections

caustic
and beautiful.