At lunch I bought a pear,
its shape: a quiet joke.
I cut it clean and slowly,
the blade, the slice, the poke.
It tasted like a breather,
not sweet, just real and right.
Like silence in the stairwell
or breezes late at night.
The afternoon unknotted,
each task a gentler climb.
I fed the cat. I folded shirts.
You’re not here. I’m fine.
Jul 8, 2025
Jul 8, 2025 at 7:32 PM UTC
At lunch I bought a pear,
its shape: a quiet joke.
I cut it clean and slowly,
the blade, the slice, the poke.
It tasted like a breather,
not sweet, just real and right.
Like silence in the stairwell
or breezes late at night.
The afternoon unknotted,
each task a gentler climb.
I fed the cat. I folded shirts.
You’re not here. I’m fine.
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