I Still Have the Strainer

Your voice on the old voicemail

sounds a little like you're embarrassed to be asking.

Hey, just wondering if you still have my colander—

no rush, whenever.

I texted back that same day.

Keep it.

You never answered.

I let it go.

That was the last time we talked.

Not a fight. Not a slow goodbye.

Just a colander,

a text, and then the long quiet

that neither of us named.

I've been trying to remember

if I knew, that afternoon,

that there wouldn't be an after.

I didn't.

I put my phone in my pocket.

I made dinner.

I used a different pot.