Jacob Aiello

I’m in the kitchen washing dishes when you wake up from your nap. I hear you get up and go to the bathroom and when you come out there’s still pillow creases on your cheek. You don’t say anything. This is merely an interlude between naps, says the expression on your face, and any attempt at conversation will be met with the disdain it deserves. You come into the kitchen to get a ginger beer from the refrigerator, press the bottle against your temple. “Are you hungry?” I ask. “Let me make you something to eat.” I’m washing the big frying pan, soapy hands, burnt cheese stuck to the edges. I arch my hips to the side so you can throw away the bottle cap in the garbage under the sink.

“Not hungry,” you say but I decide to make you something anyway.

Originally published as “Ring, Ring,” Summer 2022 in Buckman Journal, Issue 008.

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