Messy Kitchen

photo via tumblr

photo via tumblr

Messy Kitchen

by me

You were a soft voice on the other end of the phone,

your woven words drowned my ears in honey and vinegar and spoiled milk.


I held my breath as yours blew into my ear,

spoons and wine glasses dropped around me

as you mentioned wanting me and losing me and loving me and hurting me.


When they hit the tile,

I choked for air.


You were like the salt falling from my eyes-

making me wet, then drying me up.


Sopping.

Starving.

Shaking.


My mind picked apart your sentences as I picked up the shards,

and through the brokenness I savored the way you said baby.


It sounded like the way eggs and bacon tasted when you cooked them,

the way you used to say baby in the morning.


Your honesty sliced me like the pineapple I brought home,

you dug your teeth into my insides, leaving my epicarp cracked open.


You talked of how I left you a mess,

and how it was time for you to clean it up.


You hung up the phone,

and left my kitchen a mess.