Ordinary Poem

Picking up the trash I brush past you. You say "mind the ice." Underneath the concern---humor, a mental picture of my comic duck-walk. Half way to the garage I hear your voice again, as if your throat were joined to my belly. You sing to yourself as you fix a meal, I feel your salty gravity as a carnelian dipped in my blood. I carry you back to the kitchen still singing in my breast. At the sink, you wash and kiss my cold fingers as sotto voce, you reprise a song from ‘Frozen,’ while stirring hash in a skillet.