The belt didn’t have enough notches
to form a tight fit,
so you cut it with a steak knife,
the sharp tip poking a jagged hole
through worn leather.
pink cocktail in a clear bottle,
pills slowly melting,
The power drill sits on the stove top-
Phillips-head brushed with white paint.
A stripped screw in the ceiling
cut another notch in the belt.
The steak knife becomes a saw,
sliced leather fragments
drift to the floor
forming a soft fluff around chair legs.
I shatter the sunset,
it bleeds across the floor,
tiny drywall particles
make miniature floating life rafts.
We lay on the floor together,
the smell of vodka burns the air,
and I notice that there is still room
for more notches on the belt.
– Intuitive Ginger