This was the house with the old kettle squatting short and fat on the rayburn, a singing throat gurgling to be lifted with care from the hot plate. Oil fire constant within arm’s reach. Shall we have another cup of tea?
Two wrongs don’t make a right, but two lefts, plus two lefts take you back to the start and two sponges make a Victoria, though two birds can’t make a bee and two books are a sequel not a cycle. Two days are forty-eight hours and not nearly a week even when they feel like it. Two attempts are still just a start, two attempts just the same are quite often a mistake. Two trips means you’ve forgotten, three trips means write a list two lists, in case the first gets forgotten, two people can ignore each other, two people in a small space will likely try to ignore each other, one person might not ignore the other and one person might wish two people would go their very separate ways. Two redrafts might not be enough, no redrafts is laughable, two rejections for every acceptance is a very good acceptance rate. Two poems should not be the same, not exactly, two moments two loves two lives will never be the same.
He wants to know why I’m so bothered by such a small incidental thing. Doesn’t understand the ratcheting wind in my nerves has been so slow, so steady, so long in the build up that any reason is good enough to make me snap.
I am very good at sweating the small thing, like watermarks on a kitchen counter that are really tea stains from what must have been the teabag chucking Olympics because the kettle is the other end of the room, as are the mug, and the tea caddies, and oh yes, the sugar! In fact the milk is the only thing not that end, unless you were the one doing the brews in which case the milk is also that end because heavens forbid it should live in the fridge where it might just survive to its use-by instead of souring like my expression whenever I come downstairs to find dishwasher empty! but no space to move for dirty plates, cups, bowls, all stacked smallest to largest in cracked crockery Jenga challenge number sixty, guess it’s time to see what’s on sale in the supermarket kitchen department.