in the kitchen

He stands against the counter in my kitchen

His hair is long and tosseled and his face is a mystery

I am barefoot and dancing as the sun sets to amber outside of the window panes

It is late summer and the birds are leaving for the Southland

This man who watches me as I drop vegetables into hot oil, this man is leaving too.

I try to ignore the heat of his eyes, I try to ignore the cry of my heart.

In the morning I will watch him pack his things into a small suitcase with heavy hands and a heavy heart.

In the morning, when the light is creeping through the slit in the curtains and shades of steel blue alight his pale face and I am following the contours of his cheek bones and I am watching his chest rise and fall, I will place my head there and cry silently.

And we are at a ferry terminal watching the fishermen down on the wharf, listening to the homeless man rummaging through the garbage.

And we are at a bus station, everything is moving too fast now.

I am watching his bus leaving, winding its way down a curving black road.

 

Advertisements

About binaryLady

Front-End Wiz and Full stack developer

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: