I bend a spoon
back into place
and tuck it in the drawer
I set the table
light a candle
I sweep cauliflower
blossoms from the floor

and hope it counts for
something,
anything

I drag a brown wooden
stool into the kitchen
so I can crouch at the
counter and write poetry
in-between life stuff:
washing tupperware,
filling the dog’s dish,
mulling

I add half a cup of warm water
to the pot and sit and watch it simmer
scratch scratch scratching on my notepad
The radio is too loud
but I need something, anything
I turn it down a notch and
music gives way to news
the state of Connecticut
bans the death penalty
a major fire was ignited this
morning due to a lawnmower
and the operator may be responsible
for the cost

Food aromas fill the kitchen as
my womb moves and aches
I bring my hand to my belly
and wonder if it’s a warning of
menstruation or pregnancy,
granted deep down I already
know the answer…and in
a few short days
I’ll be bleeding and
wearing pads

Out of habit (half-hope) I
squeeze my breasts to see
if they’re sore, and I look
down at them
Steve walks in
he gives me a funny look
as I drop my hand to my
lap in defeat
and turn back
to the pot