The carrot is obscene       against my palm
as I peel it          skins ribboning
toward where you bend low to choose a pan.
We are on day two of a new calm.
I admire you sideways      and nick my knuckle.
The next carrot is            cracked
widely down the spine            a violent cleaving
fissure so filthy
as to be geological.      I pause to listen: rattling
air vent, sizzle of fat, your wedding ring’s ring
against the casserole dish.      That second carrot
split itself not in protest but      to move closer
to the next sunken thing.
We are inside the hush we’ve been fighting for.


BENEATH TOO LONG by Katherine Fallon



Photo used under CC