trifle.

i parked my car in the driveway,
but i didn’t leave room for your truck.
i swept my floor, because it was dirty.
i did my dishes, because i needed to.
i showered.
shaved my legs.
lotioned.
i like lotion, i tell myself.
i cleaned the toilet, and the sink.
for myself, i lie.
at least when i am sad, in an hour,
when you don’t show up, again,
at least my space will be a comforting space.
i didn’t match my shirt to my pants.
i didn’t change the sheets. yet.
maybe i should.
for myself, you know.
i wonder how long i should be graceful,
in this mysterious calamity that has befallen me.
somedays i want to be the volcano
burying you with my fury,
burning you with the anger,
but instead i am nothing more than
a mild breeze trifling through the leaves.

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