green sheets 

the popcorn turned
into stars in their microwave bags.
a girl with too much beautiful
was now my roommate
& the windows filled with deer. 
i had wanted college
so badly but i arrived terrified
& empty. i had not thought
to pack a blanket & the green sheets
i'd bought at the thrift shop
were thin. i searched for warmth in them
like a hand beneath the ocean.
in the halls footfalls & laughter
peppered the night. 
my heart, a little parking lot seagull.
i wrapped myself up as snug
as i could. a piece of meat
in butcher paper. the room was frigid.
my air conditioner singing,
"halleluiah," in a voice
made of gravel & gods.
i got up in the middle of the night.
went down to the common room.
sat there. my little vigil.  
no one else was there
& it smelled like wood & water.
out the building's front door
i saw the fresh orange sun.
it tasted metal like blood 
& sweet like citrus. a yolk
waiting to be punctured. i looked 
at my phone. called every
dead end i had until 
one answered. it was a stray cat
that used to live in the garage.
he said, "do not 
come home."