Apples
I reach for the bag of apples in my fridge,
reminded of the time you told me,
after a night of love making,
that I had nothing in my apartment to eat.
Apparently
you had gone searching
as I had rid my body of our smells
and only found ‘peanut-butter and a stale bagel.’
You seemed so disappointed in me,
but at the time I was just a poor college kid
who hadn’t lived on her own long enough to keep anything stocked up.
You would be surprised now
at the contents of my fridge and cabinets.
You could eat to your fill
and perhaps,
instead of leaving me,
you would come back to bed,
satiated and relaxed.
