that there were tiny puddles
in the street that reminded
me of paper boats and you.
I was five and my boat sank
so you took my hands in your
palms and made another one.
It was very cloudy and cold
but your hands were very warm.
Like an elegant grown up
I made myself some tea,
lemony and sugar free.
I could hear you laugh and say
hot chocolate with cinnamon
would have been a better choice.
The truth is, my fridge broke down
and the milk curdled last night.
Hot chocolate is still the best.
Despite the ready made meals,
the dishes keep piling up.
I tried to turn that mountain
into a molehill, but I
forgot about the laundry
drying outside. It’s drenched now.
How many time turners did
you use? Chores got done so well.
A headache crept up today
as I was making a list
of groceries for this week.
It made me think of your hot
rice, steaming gravy and crisps
cooked with care over the stove
on dark, monsoon afternoons.
Did your back ache as you stood
there for hours, day after day?
Words die in my throat when I
return your calls with tragic
monosyllabic replies.
Later, like a fool in a
straitjacket I simmer in
burning questions and choked sobs.