Still Life with Open Mouth
In the sink:
a spoon,
a tooth,
three cherries bleeding out.
The faucet drips like it's thinking.
Outside, the moon
is peeling itself.
I try to eat.
The bread sours mid-chew.
Milk watches me curdle.
On the table,
your note curls at the edges—
paper recoiling
from the weight of what it said.
The chair across from me
won’t stop
holding your shape.
