The Heat of the Moment

There’s no blame, really 
but you should know that you can’t just let yourself into my house,
sit at my counter,
leave a mess of nutshells
and slip out the back window without a word.
Who does that?
I know, it’s not really grounds for killing 
but we built four walls for a reason
and no one likes to be reminded
that all it takes to get inside 
is to chew a hole through the flimsy screen. 

I have a friend in Colorado. 
You should go to her house instead.
You guys are made for each other.
She has cats, yeah, but it’s ok, she’s quicker.
She’ll catch you, gently, 
scoop you up, swaddle you 
build you a home of your own,
whatever you want – cabin, castle, raised ranch – it’s yours.
She’ll bring you seeds and nuts every morning like you deserve.
She’ll make you birthday cakes.
Do you know what birthday cake is?
Just go to her
I’ll tell her you’re coming
Just go
because I’m not her, anymore
I have lost my kindness somewhere
outside.

I love you, I do
but you’re always yelling at me
climbing the walls, scratching at the roof
barging in,
now, even when we’re home.
The dog’s at the window with every noise -
we can’t relax,
not like I ever could
but I’m checking outside for trouble, now, not just in.

Today both the cardinal and the sumac
sounded off their red alarms around the sun-scorched yard
while you stood out there screaming.
It’s so August
even the bee balm is burning out 
and I’m so hot
I finally fired back