One day I heard her say:
“I have a dreamy kitchen.”
I pictured pots and pans hanging above
an old-fashioned stove, a light blue and white checkered
tablecloth on a wooden table for two.
And the morning frost beyond the kitchen door,
not reaching the warmth of her ears
from the night’s sleep.
I wondered:
What does she have for breakfast?
Does she make herself two sunny side-up eggs?
Is she too busy for eggs?
Perhaps she only eats yogurt before darting out the door.
You were always darting, not quite rushing,
but too fast for me to say hello.
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 5:55 PM UTC
The heart swells and swells,
a bit threatening. The heart hardens
and hardens, frightfully...
I am afraid for my heart.
I feel its mound beneath
the flesh of my breast, thudding
when it is tender, feeling absent when
it hardens...
The heart tries to soften when it becomes
hard, to keep thudding and rising, afraid
of the silence.
When the heart feels love,
it swells, enlarged with
blood and promise, anxious
for the sound of its own drum.
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 3:49 PM UTC