Biding Time

We sit on a scratchy picnic blanket
spread on the kitchen floor because
the rain claimed outside before
we could.
The fumes from your nail polish
sting my nose
and I lean against the cabinet
listening to you in darkness.
I open one eye,
atch the shining brush flick across your toe,
and interrupt your tirade
against my new hairstyle and my new schedule
and against the rain outside on the day that I picked
and the boy I’m seeing now
long enough to say,
“You don’t know everything, you know.”
It is the first time
I have opened my mouth
in years,
cobwebs heavy on my taste buds.
“I never said I did,”
comes the reply.
It is even, but you stare,
your eyes empty,
as though stunned such things
are in my head.
“I know,” I say
and close my eyes
and listen to the rain
and breathe in the haze of your nail polish.

The End

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