The Coffeepot (8/3/2020). -M.Weisgerber

Frozen then, same as every day to wake & make the long walk, all echoes 

with bare feet slithering ‘long to make their own slow start to chores, let 

the dog out, check the food list, sun filters through cracks on all the south 

lawn closed doors locked fast where a sewing room screams neon green.
 
I hated her pot, despised the mourning ritual she would always do the 

same long legged no tamed miscreant deviancy, no leverage, no change 

in patterns yet made nooses rung quick many out on her back deck yet 

but I will miss her in time, her love, by degrees even her sordid name. 
 
I miss the way she does it well, the morning times, the routine that
Would wake me, shake the last vestiges of all the dreams of blank sights, 

nights a way from the screaming, pleading, premonition of our very lives, 

some leverage against ghosts of her womb, the rooms all painted red.
 
So slog on dear view over past worthwhile double sink, the avocado

countertops’ varnish that will hold our merry trappings, the love

there a maelstrom soon to catch, no latch upon the east gate for

I am stupid, and sometimes the dog slips out there, yelling after.
 
I spilled sugar there once, all the bottles this rum once held, the one time 

she showed me how they had had pried apart the utter floorboards, made 

the center of this house a home, a showstop scene; light in the north panes 

part pieces took my rough soul slipshot from there; grains stuck in cracks.
 
I miss the press, miss the scent, miss the way the fine hairs of her arm slid

long as fingers passed them, she would turn then with a chin lift, glance 

ever at the lower nub & I was slain, I was slain – green eyes that swept 

away the hate & left only love, LOVE, the better parts of my very name.
 
Tear filled then as on the last day, the little flecks of brown & chips in her 

mane as I neared from behind, held, felt the soft part of her heat transfer 

back to me, a hand easing up from chores to fold over the top mine, 

spooned fast, this moment long to last, then CRASHED FAST, no more.
 
So no I will not regret the whine of the buzz of that infernal machine: the 

pooch barks to be let back in, washer squawks as it is done, shoes on, & 

as the totality springs to life & her long car takes her out to somewhere 

else, somewhere sleek in all the jade, I stand in awe that even such love, a
 
girl that has somehow thus claimed me, tamed me, shamed me - both. All. 

Let these words not rot then up the higher shelf, let them be a
 
warning to your worth – oh shine on, dear grinder of my dreams.