The refrigerator kicks on with a shudder

The refrigerator kicks on with a shudder,

a low, electric thrum that fills the gaps

between your breathing and mine.

The air is thick with things we didn’t say,

heavy as the grease on the range hood.

I reached for the cabinet and you did too.

Our knuckles brushed and we both jumped

like we’d touched a live wire in the wall.

You pulled back and stared at the floor,

your jaw tight enough to snap a bone.

On the blue plate, the crust of your toast

is curling at the edges, getting hard.

It sits there between us, cold and yellow,

while the clock over the stove ticks

like a finger tapping on a hollow glass.