Bad Lighting

I’m scrubbing at the burner with a sponge,

trying to lift the rings of hardened grease.

My mind takes a sudden, heavy plunge

back to that wedding, and the lack of peace

when you leaned in to whisper in my ear.

You used a word that felt like a mistake,

a costume that I wasn’t meant to wear.

I look into the microwave and take

a glimpse of a reflection, blurred and spare,

that knows the truth behind the hollow praise.