Toast

There’s things I remember and things I forget
I miss you, I guess that I should
Three thousand five hundred miles away
But what would you change if you could?

…I need a phone call
I need a raincoat

– Counting Crows, Raining in Baltimore

 

…

It should be simple enough, right? You put the bread in and push the thing down, and in a couple of minutes, it pops back up all perfect and golden brown, ready to be slathered in butter. Me, I burn it every time. Singed. Inedible. The toast was your thing, apparently. How did I not know that? Yours. Along with the morning singing, and the lid left off the peanut butter, the post-its on the coffeemaker. My heart. There’s a thrumming on the roof of this too-big house that says today’s a very good day to start a new morning habit: snap, crackle, pop.

..

 

wires against the sky;
one lonely raven mourning
another March storm

 

..

Poetic Asides November Chapbook Challenge, day 13 (in which Robert bids us to use the name of a city as our title. “Toast” is the name of a town in North Carolina.) 

 

 

 

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