The Part in Your Ex-Wife’s Hair

On video, she prepares stuffing
for the holiday bird,
giving instructions to the camera:
stir this, as she scrapes a spoon
across a pan of onions,
add this, and she dumps in the mushrooms.
She points with her cigarette
at the cutting board where
celery waits, white with bitterness.
Behind her, in the sink,
egg shells bob like lifeboats
in the gray dishwater.
She stops talking,
as if she has suddenly felt you
watching all these months later.
Silence pours into the kitchen
as she continues her work,
leaning down to open the oven,
the part in her hair
jagged like it has been torn
from side to side.
On a rear burner,
in a small pot,
the neck, the livers,
and the heart foam.

Published in Rip Rap, 51%

Photo by Ricky Singh on Unsplash