House Work

I am surrounded by dirty cups.

Thoughts perculate. Pushed through hot water and small brown granules. Give me something to liven my senses. Something to add texture to the day.

The sun goes through the motions of the day. Shreds of shade scatter across the day and I sink into the afternoon, red wine casting itself across the sky.

My tension is going rancid on the stove top. Racing around the house doing other things. Cutting words with a blunt knife on a dirty chopping board.

Despite the whistle of the kettle there is still so much unsaid.