Craving

Prose-Poetry. 170 Words.

“Craving”

A casserole, half tin-foil, roots itself to the low glass shelf. Now-black cherries turn in their plastic grave. The compressor hums. Blows air on my feet.

I back away. The tile moves with me. Walls step in. The bulb shrinks to a white eye. I turn. The room is cold. Buzzing.

Grease stains the walls in brown-gold streaks. A ripe tomato bruises. I reach. Its seeds, pulp, skin, float bulbward.

Eggs drift from blue styrofoam. Orbited by grey-fuzzy jars. The expiration dates on curdled containers lengthen as they recede.

Last Tuesday.
Fucking February.
The summer dad left.
Years. Decades yet unseen.

A lemon collapses inward like a dying, citrine star. Onions brush purple skins up my legs, my arms. One pink-pit olive rocks against my palm.

I close my thumb around it. Warm.

The leftovers settle onto dry, frigid ground. Every shelf slides forward. The jars return, still grey-fuzzy. The walls resettle. The bulb burns close.

I am kneeling on the linoleum, door against my shoulder, still searching the shelves.

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I love this platform. I love working hard. I love to write. You let me do that just by hanging out. Thank you !! really !!

Hope u saw inside my weird fridge . Cool things otw !!☀️💿📹💭

I always look forward to comments more than anything, but they can be so impossible ! this is just to say, i want to hear from you. whatever that means.

ok see you around ! <3

(also yes the audio & typed versions have different endings but the various formats had various needs . i’m sure u understand. let me know if u hate that.)