Pots and pans crash in the kitchen.  You are angry.
Or you are noisy.  I can’t tell anymore.

Even when I shake the wrinkles from our dungarees,
I am quiet.  I am towels.

You stop clanging pots.  I finish
folding laundry.

Next week, the dishes neat in the cupboards,
our clothes warm under the sun . . .

We will walk arm in arm through Provincetown.
We will buy art and meaningful jewelry.

We will keep company with the ocean’s crash and retreat,
its fantastic fortissimo and rotten diminish.

Colleen Totz Diamond