He forgot to put milk in her coffee.
She stares at the mug; water so black she can see her reflection
and it’s hard face and broken eyes
Back to the kitchen he goes
and reaches for the fridge
(he’s used to the cold by now)
clenched fist and clenched jaw
I’m sorry just let me explain before –
Before we have this fight again
I don’t care about the traffic or your headache or the thought that counts.
Count the number of times
I’ve told you about
What he meant to say was that he knew she would be tired today
(But so was he)
and so he tried to make coffee
and that he’s sorry
and that black or milky
A drink isn’t a measure of his love.
That no liquid can quantify the
the nights he has spent thinking of her
as his wife
and the life
they will have because she means everything to him.
What he actually mutters under his breath but just loud enough to hear
It’s just milk.
Fuel to the fire.
If it’s just
then in ten years times will it
be a divorce?
She asks hoping he will kiss her.
He asks how milk and marriage are related.
What she means to say is that it was never about
It was always about whether he listens to her
(because she listens to him)
and cares enough to remember the simple things
like how she likes her coffee
and that she’s sorry
She knows that maybe they speak different love languages
(like she read in that one book)
and that even though
which toothpaste he likes
it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her.
They stand in silence and the
Black coffee gets cold.
I’ll get the milk she says.
He sits down and frowns and begins
She stirs in the milk
as white as the innocence that still
and made her believe that he
to her every word.
It meant nothing to him
And everything to her :