Day 38

what’s right, i’m told, 

is to be honest and 

confess that in my head 

you fix the refrigerator 

when it breaks

but in the kitchen

the refrigerator works 

fine and someone else

helps me figure out insurance

with his hand upon on my thigh

and even though i do not 

walk into his words like empty 

rooms he is my Kansas, my sweet 

boy, i say when he calls me 

sweet girl, even though 

he is sweet like the oranges 

people write poems about 

and i am sweet like 

something else, like 

cough syrup, like infidelity

and if i’m still being honest 

i’ll admit that it is not 

really day thirty-eight it is actually 

day two and we are all bags of

bones knocking into

each other like wind

chimes, one giant wolf pack

waiting hungrily for marrow 

to drip from the cracks

instead of reading refrigerator manuals, 

instead of pushing the stop button. 

do you have a stop button? 

i’m asked and i say yes, sometimes, 

but really i mean no. really i mean 

that i have fallen to my knees 

in front of something that 

is not you and even though

it might be just toast 

don't you remember how much

you loved toast?