Today is nothing. Gray ghost
canvas.
Every color has been broiled
out, to evaporate in
ammonia scented windows.
The kitchen is a common place
for rainbows, for
sunlight.
How many times has a wife
picked yellow kitchens?
Stitched yellow sunflowers
into their children’s memories?
Today, the kitchen is nothing. White walls
splattered
with greasy old moments
that reflect in the glass shower walls,
in the colors
from the sun outside.
Such flattery!
He wants to slice literature with me,
over bread,
with butter; Cow Cream.
Honored! However, grammar
grows stale
with another.
Finger oils distract fine
construction
and I forget! I will forget
about
Charlotte and her dead sisters or
Simone and her young students.
I will forget about Maggie
and her wobbly skeleton!
Even if we carved classics
silently, your heavy breath
would cross centuries, rendering me
incapable.
Not with words.
Not with you.
maggiemaeijustsaythis 