what about you

it smells like
rain, she says, her long hands
buttering
bread, turning the tea pot
towards
a cup.
it's been a hot summer, she
says.
staring out the window
at a small
grave.
what's next for you, she asks.
drink your tea,
so I do.
she pushes the cream
towards me,
the sugar bowl.
she taps a spoon
against a plate then
hands it to me.
what's next? I say,
I don't know. what about you?