Water rings

She slammed the drink down.
That’s what I remember,
what wakes me in the night.
Not lost last words,
but the screech of the ice,
the splash over the glass,
the unsuccessful coaster — 
poor and ambitious cork,
so carefully placed!
Such empathy for the mundane,
the remains.

I was glad to see anger,
frightfully so.
Hoped she’d tear the walls asunder, 
light everything to burn.
I wanted to see something,
anything,
left alive inside her — 
inside of us.
Just one little thing,
a fragment left breathing,
even bleeding…

But now she’s just gone.

And I can’t return the fucking table.


Text: Kristi Large, 2017
Photo: mconnors at
morguefile.com