Sodium and Stovetop Blue

The can opener skipped twice,

a dull metallic stutter in the dark

before the lid finally gave.

I am the only thing awake in this house

except for the red numbers on the stove

bleeding into a spill of tomato broth on the counter.

I eat standing up, the spoon too hot,

listening to the fridge groan and settle.

It tastes like salt and tin and the fact

that I didn't want to be alone with my head

long enough to actually cook something.