waiting for the water to boil is when
I recall the best and worst of it. mesh
cloth draped over everything. your laugh
like a crooked exit sign in neon red.
I regret so many things I never even did
because I could have, right? and isn’t that,
after all, the same thing? the bruises
on my elbow are turning yellow and
I’ve done nothing with my life since
September. I see every bit of you
but only through broken glass. I’ve left
my hand resting too close to the burner
again and the water is boiling over. I watch it
pour through my fingers. I don’t feel a thing.