The spaghetti is cold and sticking together

The spaghetti is cold and sticking together,

but the sink is full and I'm tired.

The blue willow pattern is cracked

where the edge caught the radiator

back when I was unpacking the boxes in October.

My fork catches on the rough, unglazed tooth

of the break. It’s a sharp little reminder

of the day I fumbled the transition,

and how I just kept eating off the ruins

because it was easier than buying something new.