a little metal click, a connection
then separation, subsistence
the utensils jangle in drawers in the kitchen
little songs are sung as long as you listen
under heavy breathes from the cook, they scurry
i hear toe taps, footsteps, a calm then a hurry
little tiny movements, like the ones i strain for
because when i got up today my legs were sore
they gave out under me and i collapsed
like bones and blood all in a burlap sack
so i sit in my bed, cold and stinging
my chest pain shooting, my ears ringing
i feel like a yacht’s anchor,
holding down a fishing boat
i’m interrupted in my anger,
thinking of dreaming instead of sleeping
my meal is given to me to be eaten
but i haven’t had a morsel in days
and my dehydration dries my eyes ooze
clouding my view of my platter of food
i dilute my soup with salty tears,
rolling off my nose
my mother\'s cooking in front of me grows cold
even toast, it’s a shame to waste
along with my body, my frame, and my entire headspace