Poetri

He opened the refrigerator and on the top shelf was what was left of an already unwrapped stick of butter, barely a tablespoon. He took it out, closed the fridge, and set it on the counter before opening the cabinet to get out the curry powder and garlic salt. He should have rinsed it more, he thought to himself after taking the lid off the rice and noting its consistency – still a bit too starchy. Oh, well. He shook a decent amount of curry powder and then garlic salt over the rice and went ahead and decided to use all of the butter after cutting half of it with a teaspoon. He licked his fingers and put the wrapper in the plastic grocery bag already full of garbage, hanging off the knob of the the pantry door.

Wiping his fingers on the dish towel, he then reached above the stove and opened the cabinet. Between the plums and the Hamburger Helper, he found what he was looking for and pulled down the box of raisins. Getting them loose made his fingers sticky. When he was satisfied with the amount he picked out of the box, he re-closed it and placed it back in the cabinet before stirring the pot. The raisins plumped quickly as the rice was still steaming hot. He thought about getting a plate or a bowl out, but that would mean another dish to wash. He’d eat out of the pot tonight. He glanced at his cell phone lying on the counter before turning off the light in the kitchen and going upstairs to eat.

He set the pot on the glass table top where his monitor sat and plopped down in his chair with a sigh. The window was open and the weather widget on his computer screen read that it was seventy degrees in Indianapolis. He ate a couple of spoonfuls of rice and sat back in his chair again. Except for the music playing on his computer – an electronic melody embedded in a key generator program by CORE, it was quiet. One of the cats ran up from downstairs and went into his room to sit in the window and look out into the night. He looked down in the corner of his computer screen at the message icon. It had been inactive all day.

It didn’t take him long to finish his late night meal, go back downstairs, put the pot in the sink, and pour himself a glass of unsweetened peppermint tea from the fridge. When he was back in his chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let the music flow into him. He thought about plugging in the fountain tonight before he went to bed. He might even leave the windows open.

Wouldn’t it be nice, he thought to himself, to have love sitting in my lap right now, resting against my chest, listening to my heartbeat, and not wanting to be anywhere else but here, with me. A kiss to gently mend a delicate soul, and then one to keep a memory that needs to last forever – that is how she would kiss me. She would look into my eyes to find where I kept her in my heart, and where she should hide if death ever came for her. She would speak to me with soft caresses, the rhythm of her breathing, and the warmth of her body. I in turn I would love her like an astronomer searches out the heavens; like a diver hunts for pearls; like a musician who plays from the heart; like the toddler who must put everything in its mouth.

The hour was growing late. Even the cats were sleepy. They both sat in the window behind him now, watching and listening to the sounds of the night and the music still playing from his computer. He could hear the crickets, and the whispers of far away traffic. He closed his eyes again.