Forgive me, I’ve been feeling dead for a while now.
There are oranges in the bowl. They rot.
I replace them. My husband doesn’t notice.
He thinks I am the same fresh girl. Though,
he teases me my sagging backside. His fingers
at the curve. Always asking
for breakfast. Cracked eggs. Forgive me,
yolk. Life once was. I end
a phone call with my mother. I walk
into the grocery store with that fresh-hearted
pang that comes from hard words to
someone you love, someone who loves
you, loved you, over and over again,
with a washcloth when you were sour
and rotten, replacing blankets and towels,
fresh, round and warm from the dryer,
its lullaby hum. At the store, a frost
forms on the glass, stocked cartons of milk
chilled inside buzzing machines.
Dates stamped in black, a calf’s little
tombstone to its mother, each one.
* "Calves of dairy cows are generally separated from their mothers within the first 24 hours after birth. The majority of the milk thus enters the food market and not the stomachs of the calves." - Early separation of cow and calf has long-term effects on social behavior, ScienceDaily.com, 28 April 2015.