he wakes. she wakes. he, to get water. toilet.

she, toilet. bed again. but briefly. the light, still dark, but light, telling morning.

she gets up.

coffee. glasses? find one thing, move another. where are her glasses?

find the glasses again, this time, put them on.

make the coffee. sit to drink it.

he appears. clothed. shoeless, but clothed. pants, shirt. suspenders.

and then her head exploded, she said

he has little use for irony or words, it seems and doesn’t understand why she would say that.

she is surprised to see him awake and clothed.

I had a bad dream, he says.

she asks is he all right, does he want to talk about it.

he looks in the refrigerator, gathering greens.

my grandmother used to call this swiss charge, he says.

he doesn’t want to talk about it. anyone could tell. she could tell before she asked the question.

…

she takes a shower, dresses.

he applies heat to food. garlic, swiss charge, potatoes, parsley.

eggs.

she leaves the shower, assaulted by food and oil in the air.

want half an omelet?

she can’t eat. it’s too early. no, thank you.

he interrogates: when will she eat? where will she eat? when? what will she have?

when she’s hungry, she tells him.

unsatisfactory answer.

she suggests she could eat the omelet for dinner, if there’s any left then.

he moves on: take a hat, you’ll need it later. it’s going to rain.

she doesn’t, then does. will this make you happy?

she folds it, a roots beret, from a trip to vancouver, a decade ago, maybe longer.

she says, I don’t imagine you give much credence to the notion that dreams are just us trying to sort things out, having conversations with ourselves?

no. he says, no.

always the no.