Breakable Things

by Loren Kleinman


My kitchen
is the only thing that exists,

one room,
floating up
above New Jersey’s fault lines.

All the things it holds
within its walls
float around me
while I sit at the glass table,
on the wicker chair,
drinking a glass of wine.

The ceiling is its own solar system.

The lights circling
around me like planets,
orbit around my cat.

Day after day,
I sit in my kitchen,
eating, smoking, drinking
alone.

I am the only girl in the world
hiding in cabinets
next to the breakable things.

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