I PULL MY CHAIR CLOSER to hers,
not that we can’t hear each other
from where we are,
but just because.
And I leave the chair like that
even after she goes -
the whole day long -
so that every time I pass through the living room
I remember our conversation.
Having everything in order, just where it belongs, is highly overrated.
SHE LET ME make her breakfast.
and said yes to the Clementines I pulled from the drawer.
We sat there peeling them,
the smell of oranges filling the room.
I liked that.
I made more coffee than was necessary,
I was pretty sure,
considering half the time she comes in, announcing,
“None for me. I’ve given it up.”
Surely, I’d be dumping most of it afterward.
I turned the coffeemaker on
a few minutes before she was due because
there’s just something about the sound and smell of coffee brewing
when a morning visitor comes through the door.
This might just be a thing I think.
We catch up on her recent trip
and my finally taking a class
and our various church stuff.
We are knee-deep into her wondering what to do
about the most negative person she’s ever known
when my phone rings.
I decline the call,
but when it rings again,
she says, “You need to take that”
and she’s right.
She slips out.
after she goes
and after the call,
I wander through.
Dirty plates are piled high with orange peels,
the furniture is askew
and the coffee pot is empty.
You can’t buy this kind of happiness.