Day 13

brittle words, brittle bones:

truth is a rusty nail that I drag

across my mind raining sparks;

a broken muffler on pavement



your eyes were azure sea glass

painfully dull, pummeled by

every matter of water and rocks



in moments of your absence

i wade into the center of the creek

asking to be cleansed of the shards

of memory you have embedded in me



i think of you when I smell rosemary

and thyme...we always had too much

or not enough of both the taste and the measure:

seconds, minutes and hours.



a dash of salt to keep me from

bitterness.

you liked to watch me cook

in your kitchen, standing only millimeters

away from my figure at the stove.



you never knew that the rhythm of

my wooden spoon was your heart beat;

the steam from the saute pan

was the breath you left on my neck.