TULA
Not So Different
By Abril Tamin

Mornings I shake off the sheets and
shrouds, that have gathered
the strength of the night. Then fold.
It will lie beneath the pillows
to listen to its own undoing.

Then turn on the TV.
I do not watch but I like to
hear its sound from the kitchen.
It dulls the unrelenting bang and clang.
the latest news will not be so different
from yesterday's.

While cutting up red tomatoes and red eggs
and red onions, I'll notice again how
dull the knife has become.
Sharpening is too much trouble.
Maybe I'll buy another.

Sometimes I cut myself, so absorbed I am.
It is not so dull then.
Can still bleed fingers.
I bet it can still go through undefrosted meats.

I sit while the pot boils.
I intently watch as the steam coils.
Even in my imagination
it always fades away.
I plan the day ahead.

The table is ready.
They'll wake up soon.
It is still dark, I turn to the TV.
Mornings, there's always some good old comedy.
To silence the pangs of explosion.

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