Vanilla Comfort

The text came through, a cold quick bite,

and left me standing in the kitchen light.

Too still, the house, a little frayed,

a quiet ache, a promise unmade.

I dug it out, the frozen block,

past peas and ancient pizza rock.

Cheap vanilla, stiff and white,

a single spoon, bent out of sight.

The freezer burn, like tiny stars,

a surface rough, with minor scars.

No bowl, no fuss, just me and it,

a numb surrender, bit by bit.

Sweet balm for where the heart just quits.