4 of 31. Sill

I try to read into what he means

when he says


There are peppers in the window, still

attached to stamens, the roots of a leafy green

showing through a glass jar

beside it.

I’m thinking of the little ones,

the babies that I pray for

in the morning, whether the sun is

behind a wall of grey

or bright on my tired face.

Yesterday, I snapped at a customer

who didn’t listen when I read back

his order

and then wanted something else.

They always want something that isn’t

on the menu.

He makes me something


and I remember the last time I checked

on the garden,

half-heartedly picking at clovers and grass

grown tall in the little dirt square.

I forgive myself for clenching my fists

when I remember what day it is.

Be patient with mistakes.

The bathroom sink is always wet

from a leaky faucet.

I want what he’s having.

This reading into slow responses

wakes up the hungry.

All kinds of questions are moving through

the veins in my neck.

I answer them quickly

and wash

and wash

pray away the nightmares.

Tighten my mouth at how

they come back stronger.

Everything will be fine if I can learn

to stop listening

so hard.


About amyleighcutler

Writer, dancer, vagabond extraordinaire
This entry was posted in 30 in 30, fall, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to 4 of 31. Sill

  1. katherine says:

    that’s funny, last night i cried for a long time because i stopped listening a long time ago.

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