Hard Words

Hard words married to
burnt toast scar the morning,
spilt coffee spreads a Rorschach
on the tablecloth after a
clenched fist made the table
jump and a knife stuck in
thin-skinned answers filled ears
grown deaf from clocktick with
blood as the stove swallowed its
flame and the refrigerator held
its breath. The wax doll strutted
her pins, pretending doors were
locked and no one had the key.
Your sobs begged me to run the reel
backward but the machine stuck
on the present scene so we threw
the film in the sink and choked
our words on a fishbone kiss
but they never finally died.