That Kitchen Window

The air today, too clean,

too quiet. Makes the small things

loud. My phone in my hand,

a cold slab.

Another picture. Her kitchen.

Sun pouring in like syrup

on bright counters.

Stainless steel,

gleaming, impossibly clean.

And that basil plant,

so green, not a single leaf

yellow or chewed.

Perfect.

A sour twist in my gut,

a quick, hot thing I wish

wasn't there.

My own kitchen,

the coffee rings, the pile

of mail on the counter.

I swipe away,

fast. Like it never happened.