by Cyndie Randall
I am eating a waffle
He follows the wood grain on the table with his
trigger finger I wonder if I should
direct my questions there When
animals are hungry they hunt and
moan When they are hurting they cower and
moan When any need arises they moan never
deceiving themselves on the road between
gut and throat We just looked at a house
yesterday I say Laughed
with our friends in this room
Next we plead the regrettables: Is there someone else This will
make your mother happy What about our daughter I don’t
want you
Don’t want you
I type husband said he wants a divorce into the search bar
The results instruct me not to beg to look and be the best wife no
sweatpants or lying in bed I find it difficult to fold our laundry
with a bomb strapped to my chest remote in his hand
tracing tracing the deep-seated grain
Conversations like these don’t end they die
hungry I go outside to scream My moaning hits our home
and echoes back to me Do I cut the red wire or the blue
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