Spilled

I walked into the bar twenty minutes late,
rain dripping on the mat, into his long
waiting gaze, he spent three weeks waiting 
for me, three years later I am waiting
in the other direction. It has been raining 
since we met. There was something agape
in the corner, I remember, he left the door open 
but who can remember who turned the lock?
Later he said sorry but without punctuation, 
the periods lodged deep in the holes in his belt
which he took to hit my legs before I knew
what to say. I didn’t snore that night, we slept, 
and I woke still silent as rain left the sky 
in fluid agitation, a flood warning. I slipped from 
the bed and saw tangles in the corner, hair strewn,
a single motion left behind. I cleared the drain, 
tried to wash until my face was clear of it,
I tried to leave, tried to clean my face until 
it washed like rain.

SHIR LOVETT-GRAFF

Shir Lovett-Graff is from New Haven, Connecticut. They are a founding editor of Toho Journal, and their work can be read in Qwerty Magazine, Pittsburgh Poetry Journal, Crab Fat Magazine, Atlas + Alice, The Flexible Persona (nominated for a Pushcart Prize), and more. They study religion, ethics, and politics at Harvard Divinity School and enjoy ambitious cooking projects.