is over. the skeleton of a turkey
sits on the counter.
heaps of cold
vegetables are stuck
to the bowls.
mounds of starch
and hardened butter
once full of warm promise
sit still in the cold
battlefield.
we were ravenous.
animals
yesterday.
the blood of cranberries
is splattered
on the floor.
knives and forks
lie crusted
in the sink, having
eaten the beast.
a bottle of red wine
is dry, tilted with one
red tear
still in its eye.
i want to wake you,
but i don't. i want to run.
i want to hide.
No comments:
Post a Comment