Dawn creeps in through curtains,
spilling onto a bed too big for just myself.
Unwilling to grow
accustomed to such excess space,
I sleep only on my side
should you ever return to yours.

As ever other morning,
I give the tea kettle a good shine
before lighting the burner.
Aside from being your kettle,
it is nothing special,
has never surprised me,
yet still I watch with irrational urgency,
fingers crossed.

A bit of honey, squeeze of lemon-
I don’t even care for tea.
This is how you like it,
how I’ll prepare it.

To my disappointment
the water simply boils.
The whistle is not a waking genie,
steam unprepared to grant wishes.
If only this kettle were Aladdin’s lamp-
I’d have just one wish—
not for your return

to forget you.