her week long silence
and asks me to slide the butter
dish over
to her
so that she can butter
her toast.
the blueberry jam too.
so i do.
thank you, she says,
still not looking at me.
i listen to her knife
scrap along
the dry toast, then the clink
of it against
the jar of jam.
we're making progress.
i get up and fill her coffee
cup without a word,
then tell her about
the rain.
No comments:
Post a Comment