On Love

Ask the dishes in the kitchen sink about love
and they’ll tell you what my mother told me:
love is an empty plate.
And soon enough, he’ll take back his boat
to use as a cereal bowl.
You’ll learn that the rain didn’t fall for the grass
but because it was told to stop loitering,
and what good does staying do, when within a year
you just become a part of the furniture.

I painted my lips red with the idea of you
and soon enough my fingers will grow blue and
my eyes won’t always search for you on a crowded street corner.
Give my regards to Ave. Du Parc (with a “c”),
let your thumb shake, let your legs go numb beneath you,
and don’t forget to floss.
I draw a line between us
and it is 356 miles long.

—By Jessica Nauta