Lag

The store was out of the bread you liked.

I stood by the glass of the freezer door

and felt the way the silence spiked

as I reached for a meal for one, or more.

The cardboard box has a skin of frost

that bites at the pads of my reaching hand.

I’m just now counting what I have lost

while the storm clouds gather across the land.

The refrigerator hums a low, flat tune

in the kitchen where the mail is piled high.

It’s October now, not the heat of June,

but I’m finally starting to say goodbye.