kettle

the heat goads out the water

and the metal screams

for the whole home,

for every tearing away,

for every change of heart,

for every moment we failed each other,

and that water will blanch the skin

from your knuckle bones

if you let it

 

but once the heat is gone,

the quiet soaks in from the edges of the room,

the boil rolls to a stop,

and all i want to do

is fill your French press