Domesticity

Things are always rotting in the fridge,
but if I threw each out the moment
mold begins to sprout or leach into leftovers,
where would I find time for mending
a torn sweater?

Paint is always peeling,
flake by flake.

Bulbs turned on
are always burning out.

With every slurp of soup comes the slightest,
winded hurt: the thought of always-empty space
in the cupboard.

Mary Alta Feddeman

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