What Honest Sounds Like

The can opener felt heavier than your body.

You stood there ten minutes just holding it,

feeling the weight like it was telling you something

you couldn't afford to hear.

Then the glop—

the sound when you poured it,

that thick, defeated plop into the bowl,

and it was the truest thing

you'd done all week.

You ate it standing up.

The salt made your mouth feel less like your own.

A ring-shaped stain bloomed on the counter,

rust-colored where the can had leaked,

and you let it stay there

because cleaning it up would mean

believing in tomorrow.

The soup was lukewarm and thin.

You cried a little,

not from sadness but from the specific relief

of a body finally admitting

what it needed.