You Put a Mason Jar of Hot Tea, Marked FLOUR, in my Hands.

by | Jun 24, 2023 | Writing the Weather

I try to imagine you in your kitchen while I stood freezing outside your door with the car running idle, double-parked, wanting to spare you the cold from the stoop to the curb. Just before: the butcher’s block — a flash of copper —- you dash past the pedestrian stack of pots under the ornament of pans. The former lover you won’t make words for manifests in the Spanish oil you won’t cook with, takes up residence on the counter next to the stove, when the teapot begins to fife for me —- did you pour out the flour to steep the tea? Had you exhausted every other option? Flung open then shut closed the cabinet doors like end-of-scene applause, while offstage, I walked the thirteen city blocks back to where I parked the car. I mattered enough to be given the to-go tea but not trusted to return a proper cup. These trials of love are some failure in logistics and reason. I can’t remember why I drove back to your apartment only to drive away without you other than you told me to. Because you are reason enough.

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