now there is a new kitchen

the straps of my tanktop don't stay up for long.
there is too much pointing to do.
my shoulders are in constant use
(but not because you are here,
telling stories loudly;
reaching out for emphasis).

i save up my moments for emails,
but it doesn't come through the same
when there are no interruptions.
the light makes all the edges blurry anyway.

i don't want to out-grow this.
i want the mud on my boots to last forever,
even if i feel out-of-place sometimes.

i haven't figured out yet if i should measure time
in teaspoons or teapots.
either way, i'll spill it all over the floor,
and memories will get mopped up like milk.

eventually, new sandpaper will smooth me out,
and all my corners will fit nicely.
someone else will sit across the table.
when i leave, i won't push the chair back in.