After Midnight, The Kitchen

After Midnight, The Kitchen

The kettle clicked itself off twice,

Steam thinning against the tiles.

A spoon lay where I left it,

Still warm, still patient.

The clock above the door stalled,

Hands locked at twelve fourteen.

I did not touch it,

I noticed the dust instead.

A glass held yesterday’s water,

A faint ring drying slowly.

I traced it once with my thumb,

As if it might respond.

Outside, a car passed without sound,

Headlights slid across the wall.

For a second my shadow doubled,

Then returned to one.

The fridge hummed inconsistently,

Like it was thinking something through.

I leaned against the counter,

Cold pressing through my sleeve.

I felt the absence then,

Not as grief, not as panic.

More like a chair pulled back,

Left exactly where it was.

I stayed until the floor cooled,

Until the room stopped adjusting.

Nothing dramatic happened,

Which somehow made it worse.

By morning, everything worked again,

Clock ticking, kettle obedient.

Only the ring on the counter,

Still refusing to fade.