yesterday, i
listened as she
gave him
an hour of words;
pouring
caramel-sprinkled latte into
his favorite cup,
no sweetener needed,
like
exhaling.
today, you
gave me
two or three
syllables
to chew,
and they
scratched my throat
on the way
down.
i poured you
week-old coffee in
an abandoned
travel mug,
hardened
splenda at the bottom;
like
inhaling smoke
into
collapsed lungs.
listened as she
gave him
an hour of words;
pouring
caramel-sprinkled latte into
his favorite cup,
no sweetener needed,
like
exhaling.
today, you
gave me
two or three
syllables
to chew,
and they
scratched my throat
on the way
down.
i poured you
week-old coffee in
an abandoned
travel mug,
hardened
splenda at the bottom;
like
inhaling smoke
into
collapsed lungs.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
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