Mittens
we wear mittens to protect our hands from each other there are no fingers entwined in this relationship. we wear big jackets like puffed up penguins struggling to walk struggling to keep the cold out but it’s not just the air that is frozen solid our breath visible spreading before our faces in the dark night with the stars drowning disappearing in all that sky when we should be alone and safe and apart. there’s no one on these streets we walk alone and jagged to find your house your kitchen your fridge with the photo of your ex still on it buried under magnets but it’s still there. we’ve moved on from beer to tequila to gin and tonic to watered scotch burning our throats to create some artificial warmth swaying tearing coughing through what’s left of the night. your cat peppered black white purring or is it growling I can’t tell it doesn’t seem to know either. I know you but I don’t and you don’t and you know me but we don’t know each other like this. not like this with the lamp still burning even though it’s now daytime and the sun has no heat but the lamp burns my fingers when I touch it it’s been on all night and you finish the scotch no grimace no burning no pain. no pain for me either this isn’t the movies there’s no love story here. there’s not any kind of story here now that the night has filtered out and spread through. there’s no love story here. I promise.
copyright christine fotis
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