(i)

you spill drinks everywhere you go like you want people to know your butterfingers
can’t hold anything together. what a disaster. tablecloths dry in the sun. your stain
on the family name will haunt us forever. a spill of bloody mary is one thing but a whole
jar? that white shirt is a bloodbath. i wish it was your blood. i could really use a cocktail
right now. what were you thinking, my hands ask with a strike on the back of your head
& your eyes shift to the bucket of tomatoes on the shelf. i know what you are thinking. should i clean up this mess or stomp the juice out of those tomatoes with the studs of my new shoes?
you walk away knowing i’ll spit words at you that make you feel like nothing. isn’t that
what you wanted? for words to make you feel nothing? so goddamn ungrateful.

(ii)

i left you long back. supposedly the heart remembers better than we do. you are a stain
on my clothes that just doesn’t go away. & boy have i washed it with the strongest detergent i could find in the supermarket. science can rest easy the day someone invents a cleaning solution for marks left by heartbreakers. till then, i’m forced to stare at this giant
crater on my heart & hands & ribs & bones. i’m no longer afraid of disasters. i’m one.
you can rest easy knowing the next time i spill bloody mary on my white shirt, it’ll be
my own blood.

(iii)

mother, do you remember when i last wore a white shirt? neither do i.