I contribute glasses of water to prevent dehydration,
towels to mop up leaks on the floor, and witticisms,
in the same helpful way that the cat is under the sink,
rummaging through the plastic grocery bags. Lately,
I’ve been thinking about how my husband would feel
if I told him, now, how he’d hurt me then. I think about
picking every last seed from my teeth. He pulls his head
out of the cabinet and drops his hands. The new hose
doesn’t fit the old port. We’ll adjust. I know, for once,
just the right tool for the job. Here, I say, have some pie.
