what's on the kitchen counter
The compost canister, with its leaning tower of gutted grapefruit halves inside,
tipping the lid like a lopsided grin. A blue-green mug with an inch left of this
morning's pour. Crumbs from an insubstantial breakfast, and a shallot that may
or may not be included in tonight's meal. That infuriating lip of an ill-fitted sink.
A faint remainder of a single frozen blackberry, forgotten after some late-night smoothie.
Tiny bottles of vinegar. An off-yellow sponge curled at the corners. Softened butter. And now,
fresh news from Kentucky, another school eviscerated by gunfire, and from Michigan,
more stories from a childhood no child should ever have to tell. There is sunlight
on one fragment of Formica and a long, cold shadow spreading on the rest and here,
at the intersection, the sweetness and pain of the earth moving through its next season.