The kitchen is dark except for the stove clock’s green light

The kitchen is dark except for the stove clock’s green light.

I’m waiting for the microwave to end its slow flight.

The house is too quiet now that you’ve finally gone,

leaving me here to wait for a mechanical dawn.

The fridge gives a kick, a shuddering metallic groan,

reminding me I’m not entirely alone.

On the door, the magnet of Ohio starts to shake,

rattling against the white enamel for my sake.

It hums a flat note that vibrates through the floor,

settling into the space where we don't speak anymore.