I found out at six weeks. I didn’t tell you. We were arguing about our wedding music. You stood against the fridge, eating yogurt with the door open. I joked about playing ‘Baby Got Back’, but you didn’t laugh. Everything seemed to itch your feet lately – your boss’s critiques, your mother’s plans for our living arrangements, and whenever I asked you: Why have you been distant lately? You responded: Why haven’t you cleaned the house lately? I took my ring off and threw it at you. You walked out the kitchen and left. I didn’t tell you, what happened next. I sat on the kitchen floor with a casserole dish in my left hand. I felt a cat pawing its way out of my stomach. When you came back the next morning, I didn’t tell you. You smiled. The kitchen sink was cleared and clean, and I didn’t tell you by the seventh week it was gone.
Amanda Gomez is finishing her first year as an MFA candidate in poetry at Old Dominion University. Currently, she resides in Norfolk, VA. She is working on completing her first chapbook.