Wednesday, January 18, 2023

the cornbread apology

i made cornbread, 
she told me,
when i came home from work.
the dust and grime
of the day
still on me,
in my hair, stuck to my
hands.
my back ached.
i made cornbread, she'd
said, kissing
me on the cheek.
sit down.
dinner's almost ready.
go ahead and start.
there's butter on the table.
and please,
let's not fight
anymore.
i'm glad you're home.
go on,
eat, eat.

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