Laughter In Ruins

We laughed in the kitchen while the sink leaked,

You doing that voice you hate,

Me snorting like it was charming.

﹁﹂

The ceiling had a soft brown bruise

from last month’s storm,

And we pretended it was “character.”

﹁﹂

You flicked flour at my shirt,

I retaliated with a kiss,

White dust on your mouth like winter.

﹁﹂

It was sweet. It was stupid.

It was us trying to glue joy

to a wall that wouldn’t hold.

﹁﹂

Later, you said “we’re fine,”

in the same tone you use

for expired milk.

﹁﹂

I joked about couples therapy,

and you laughed too hard,

too fast—

like slamming a lid on boiling water.

﹁﹂

Our couch sagged in the middle,

and we kept sitting there anyway,

meeting in the dip,

making a nest out of a problem.

﹁﹂

Sometimes love is a comedian

performing in a collapsing theater,

still taking requests,

still wanting applause.

﹁﹂

I can’t tell when it started cracking—

maybe when the jokes got sharper,

Maybe when I stopped hearing myself.