gigondas

.

Small sips
.

Yesterday,
it snowed.

She watched from inside.
She hates the cold.

She likes the thick,
white blanket
that covers her front yard.

She feeds the fire
and cracks a beer.

Not smiling, watching the flames
and whispering a mantra:

It's not just another day.
It's not just another day.

She flinches
when she hears
the front door opening.

Never any time alone.
No goddamn silence

and he is always loud
and usually drunk and usually
very late to leave
and is definitely
the first two tonight.

She heaves a sigh.
Behind closed eyelids,
she sees a pattern of red and black

fractured lines
arranged like
a broken glass spider web.

She wonders
if it's a projection
of the blood and electricity
in her eyes

which she reopens
as he flops on the couch,
throws his right arm behind his head,
hand coming to rest on his neck
beneath his ear

as he keeps on talking.
It'll be a long night.

Without shaking,
her helpless hand
lifts the beer to her lips.
It still feels
like a dry swallow.

She offers him one.

It is
just
another night.