Broth and Breakdowns

The pot hissed—

splashing cold droplets

on cracked tile,

a sudden spatter that startled

like a whispered threat.

Steam curled lazy

above chipped ceramic,

thick broth simmered,

tumbled bits of carrot and fat

spinning slow in murk.

I stirred between thoughts,

senses tangled with fatigue,

as the kitchen light flickered

and the shadows stretched long,

pulling loose the edges of my patience.

This bowl, a small anchor

in a storm that pressed close,

but the hiss and spill

said the chaos would return,

tight as the silence after the noise.

I sat, spoon poised,

tasting heat, tasting cracks,

wondering how long this ritual

would keep the night at bay.

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