Muscle Memory

I watched you turn toward the stove

and he was already there,

his hand on the dial

before you asked for it.

You didn't flinch.

Your shoulders nearly touched—

that small space between

two people who have learned

each other's movements

the way your body learns

to avoid a crack in the sidewalk

you walk every morning.

Steam rose between you both.

Neither pulled back.

I was holding the wine glass

someone handed me an hour ago.

I'm still holding it.