Slipping in the hard curl
of florescent light, I cut
potatoes into cubes, watch
as they boil, a scum forming
on the sides of the old
aluminum pot. Too many
days lay stacked on the shelves
of this kitchen, too many chipped
cups, sour mild jugs. cracked
memories,eggshells, and coffee grinds
tossed out on the difficult lawn.
I hardly hear you when you enter
the room, returning from your vigil.
You stand close, stare down over
my shoulder into roiling water,
and tell me that I have chopped
them too large, that this meal
is taking too long to complete.
Off the Coast (2010)