Rachael Z. Ikins
You entered my house.
emptied the fridge of the old,
the mold. You rearranged cabinetry,
cupboards, dishes—so many
dishes left from
sets collected years ago.
You pulled a pan from beneath my stained,
scratched counter. You cooked for me,
something succulent, nutritious. Took away
that bitter taste.
You served me on your knees, my cheeks flushing
at your attention to detail, the platter you chose,
chipped side facing away from me. You smiled.
Silence as you bent to set your heart down. You smiled.
Candle’s light deepened the shadowy
oasis between your breasts. Yes, you walked
my shadows with me. Then the sun rose up.