Letting the Fire Burn Out

You spilled the coffee again,

the same way you did on Tuesday night.

I felt the old urge to grab the towel,

to find the words to make it right.

But I just watched the brown pool spread,

reaching for the edge of the wood.

I turned to the sink and washed my mug,

doing the only thing I actually could.

The rope has finally frayed to a thread.

I’m letting go of the heavy end,

realizing there’s a massive difference

between a break and a bend.