I want to tell You I am sorry
On Your last Sunday,
You chopped onions carrots celery enough
To last and
Hung a shelf in the bathroom and
Replaced hooks in the kitchen that we’d been making do
I was supposed to be the one who made Plans and
wiped clean the Slate of
last week’s livings
Your materials and my machinations made a mundane magic
Out of living
I wasn’t prepared for no more Sundays, and the vegetables,
they went rotten in the fridge.
I looked at them for days, gutted, begging them to give me
One. Last. Chance.
to be saved.