Domestic Sonnet VI

From The Familiarity

Domestic Sonnet VI

I part my hair a different way
to see if she will notice I have changed.
Outside, beneath a depthless sky,
I crush rosemary between my palms,
resin against calloused skin.
I worry over fenugreek and ferns
that bow and lift in the restless wind.
A garbage truck lurches down the street,
swallows what we leave behind.
Footsteps ascend and disappear from view.
Upstairs, she draws the weighted blanket close,
her body caving into the end of the day.
This is how time passes now—
slow as camphor clinging to my hands.

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