In the morning, I woke up to your note on my kitchen counter-
I tore it up.
I don’t want it anymore.
I made tea, which spilt, and then I used the scraps to mop it up.

I washed the bed sheets.
I left the house and traded the kettle for an orange at the market because,
Lately that is what I love. Rind, peel and all.
It was beautiful and ripe; fruit has never tasted so sweet and pure.

The next morning, I walked out into the garden before the sun.
The grass was cool and dewy between my toes.
I covered an orange seed with the soil in my palms.
It was easy. I will grow a tree. I’m glad I exist.