This Morning

I looked into my roommate’s bedroom—on her

pillow, on the wood floor, in her trashcan there was

vomit. It struck me that the entire house seemed

calm.  Our aprons were still hanging in the kitchen. 

The throw blankets were still folded into a pile of

rectangles on the edge of the couch. Morning light

mixed with the scene.  I couldn't imagine 

waking to this, with the whole house so incredibly
orderly, then leaving only to come back 

to the stench after work. I don't know how to tell

her that the bottle of wine in the kitchen trashcan,
or the man she had over last night
can’t solve things.