Poetry Thursday: Overflow

Overflow

I didn’t mean to do it.
Somehow
my elbow brushed against
that top heavy bottle
of cream and
Over it went,
spreading a silent pool of
reproach in french vanilla
across my countertop
running in languid pools
over the edge
dripping casually onto
my clean floor.

So early in the morning
for this to happen,
my eyes still gummy with sleep
I’m frozen in shock
incapable of moving.

“You’re always in such a hurry,”
my husband says
when
“You’re so clumsy”
is
what he means.

He turns his back
and pads away
while my eyes stare
transfixed
on this fountain before me
until they too fill up and
spill.

~Becca Rowan
September 2008

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