| HOA ENTERS THE KITCHEN heaving a sigh. The boys sleep. She
pours a cup of lemon balm tea. I listen to liquid pour out into the mug
and hear her spoon stirring in milk and honey. “I’m fat,” she says. “You
look great,” I say. “You just had a baby and you’re beautiful.” She
wears purple pants and goes across the room to read, flipping pages of
a magazine next to a stuffed, mechanical bird. A blue balloon dog faces
me. The pothos are wild and flourishing. There’s puked up breast milk
on my shirt.
Quiet room sunflower blossoms wilt by a lamp’s weak light and a spider’s blue shadow sidewinds above horizons of grey parallel ink lines (Italian). A torn calendar bookmark shows Amicus stood word of the day Tertius/Tuesday, Martius/March 19. A crease in the fold obscures all but this in a quote: “…populo romano cogitare.” (Cicero) Spider reaches far frontiers other side of the table. Light tonight is yellow. |
(Hoa Enters the Kitchen)
