|“Years later we found a piece of steak
wedged behind the cupboard”
Do you remember the china plate
With the heart pattern, the reddish steak
And how it flew and hit the door
And the watery red spread on the floor?
You said, “that was a waste of steak,”
And calmly scooped the shards of plate
Up from the newly carpeted floor
Reached for your coat and slammed the door.
I remember the crack down the heart-patterned plate
And in my head it broke in half and the steak
Left a heart-shaped stain on our brand new floor
And the photo frame trembled when you shut the door.
But nothing breaks cleanly in real life: plates
Smash crooked and hearts are at stake
And one person wipes the floor
With the other then calmly, understatedly closes the door.
If you have any comments on this poem, Sorrel Wood would like to hear from you.