the linoleum is cold beneath bare heels,
and the pilot light has been dead since August.

we do not look at the knives anymore.
they are too loud when they stay on the counter.

instead, we watch the steam rise from the pot.
IT SMELLS LIKE SOMEONE WE USED TO CHERISH.

you are sitting on the floor by the pantry box.
your chin rests heavily against your knees.

are you waiting for your turn to stoke the flame,
OR ARE YOU JUST ENJOYING THE SEEDING SEASON? > error: the refrigerator handle is covered in hair.