up late and slept in, hurt deep to the bones
the sharp grey light spills in through cold windows
we started drinking around 11
watching the soviet chess narratives
that have always brought comfort
the dog is grumpy
she wants to sniff around the neighborhood
i am too tired to walk her today
the recipe is: cubed stale bread
onions and celery sweated
in butter with poultry seasoning
three beaten eggs
325 until golden brown
i imagine my mom’s kitchen
smells exactly like mine right now
it eases the distance, just a little
and you’re mashing potatoes
stirring canned soup into canned green beans
last night i got lonely enough
to crawl under your weighted blanket
this might be the last thanksgiving dinner
we ever cook together
sometimes i wonder why i make these choices
i have two bottles of red wine on deck
maybe next year it’ll be you i miss
instead of my brothers and sisters
maybe it’ll be you sending me photos
of the snacks you’re eating while you cook
two cocktails on the counter
and i’ll wonder who’s there
maybe in a way this is a blessing
still and all
right now i want my family
the way i always do
when i’m sick and sad and sore
i keep hoping next year will be better
in spite of all evidence to the contrary
mattress dungeon 