Was it the way I was standing
Spoon in hand like a weapon,
Water boiling over with a hiss?
Howling insults and
Sauce bubbling red.
We reached this point slowly.
Silence, now, stove clean.
We sip wine without looking
Eat pasta cooked a minute
Past al dente.
Press Send Poetry 
author's note = this is a revised edition of a poem posted a few years ago called “domesticity”
author's note = this is a revised edition of a poem posted a few years ago called “domesticity”