Close

Gone

Katie Berta | Poetry

I did many many many 
many many boring things. 
I sat for a show. I clicked 
on a link. I looked over  
and over and over your  
paper. Come boring myself, 
I know what I’ve known:  
doing boring is being boring. 
(I’ve known since childhood: 
taught by the women who’d talk  
by listing each of the errands 
they’d run) I watch 
videos: crushing small balls 
of chalk. One blue, one green, 
one spilling a certain red. People 
say they watch for the sound. 
Dust on dust, eyes on eyes, 
dirt to dirt—not bored anymore 
but dead or, more precisely, 
a kind of dead: gone.