wama

21.10.06

We share the same house. You live here I live here.
You eat my food. Daily I prepare it. I share it. Here, sit down to the table and eat. We sit at the table. Not speaking. What is there to say when every day we eat from one pot, break bread. All of these things friends or family do.

I can tell you hate me. you eat the food because you are hungry not because you care to. The love inside is lost on you. You look down on the soup and the grains, the meat. Nothing is fresh enough for you. even the herbs and greens cut from the garden minutes before cannot compare to what you would prefer. The roots dug out from the earth have “that dirty taste.” Anything but here. Anywhere but what my hands have touched. Nothing is good enough for you.

You hate this house but you want all of it. You spread out. Claiming rooms left open for guests. You sleep in every bed. You resent every inch I inhabit. You want it for yourself. You would rather flatten the garden than eat from it. you wished it dead the minute I set my thumb to it.

I clean your dead skin from sinks and hair from floors. I propose to stop being your maid. “I hear you.” you say. “I doubt it.” I nod.

You speak with anyone but me. You creep around avoiding my good-mornings. Small talk. And I agree. No small talk. There are walls between us; you’ve made it clear - what’s yours, what’s mine. And I agree. I close the doors, turn down the heat when the rooms are empty. Don’t pass thru my space - you will soil it. I agree.

posted by la kara @ 05:44