My phone’s face up
on the marble counter.
No notifications.
No small blue bubbles
begging to be opened.
The house hums —
fridge.
dishwasher.
air fryer.
Machines doing their jobs.
I stand at the sink
with the water running
long after the glass is full.
Cold spills over my knuckles.
Steady.
Indifferent.
What if I left it on?
Let it flood the cabinets,
buckle the floors,
swell the doorframes
until nothing closed right again.
What if I walked out
the front door
without my keys?
No note.
No goodbye.
Just absence.
Someone would call.
Eventually.
Or maybe they wouldn’t.
The water would keep running.
About the Creator
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Nice work
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
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Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
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More stories from Tina D. Lopez and writers in Poets and other communities.
December 8, 1980
When I was six or seven, my stepdad came into my life, and I remember thinking he knew everything. He could befriend anybody, anywhere. In grocery stores, he chatted with strangers over cuts of meat; at gas stations, he bonded with people pumping fuel over how the smell of gasoline was disgusting and yet enjoyable. In restaurants, he took an interest in waiters’ lives—like Steve, whose father was dying of cancer. When Steve’s dad died, my new dad attended the funeral.
By Tina D. LopezExclusive • 2 months ago
Comments (3)
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I absolutely love your poem, beautiful. Well done. Keep up the good work!♥️♥️
Beautiful I love it:)