The woman in aisle four said it

The woman in aisle four said it

while she was reaching for the beans—

that stupid, clipped-off bit of slang

that used to mean everything to us.

In our old kitchen, it was a riot.

We’d say it until we couldn't breathe,

leaning against the counter,

convinced we were the only ones who knew.

Now, standing by the freezer cases,

I watched a bag of peas start to sweat.

A green drip hit the linoleum floor

and I felt the temperature in my chest drop.

It’s just a sequence of sounds now,

stripped of the context of your face.

A dry, hollow shell of a thing

taking up too much space.