Unquestioned

Sometimes when I’m on my bedroom floor,

child’s pose, 

I look under my bed at the empty untouched landscape,

exhale.

It doesn’t need to be filled. 

A quiet open space isn’t a question. 

It doesn’t need an answer. 

I think, how lovely, 

one less anxious question twisting around in my head 

creating yet another trigger pulled somewhere down the line. 

A hundred less answers.

The rest of my apartment has things, chairs, desks, things to sit on, things to put other things into, onto, next to. 

This desert under my bed will remain unquestioned. 

When you see the ocean, you don’t ask, “What can I put on it, in it?” 

You don’t think, that’s just too much unused space.