subtext

Along the edge of the cup,

Like several of our cups

And glasses, there’s a chip

Caused by the benign chaos

Of the house: overloaded

Dishwasher, dishes piled

Near the sink waiting

Like many things wait

For attention, for care

I don’t know what to say,

What to do anymore now

Than anytime before

I hold the cup, feel its warmth

Take a sip, and think of you