This poem is about how much I love pasta. (No, it is not.) (But it could be, because listen : I love pasta a whole fucking lot.) The word “chore” always makes me think of the song Stay (just a little bit more) by The Dø, which I hadn’t listened to in over ten years until I wrote this poem. 🙂

running my hands under
the water counting down chores
left to do I ask myself

was I in love with you
then last time I
cleaned this plate
climbed those steps
played that chord
cried on this page
watched the sun set through
my bedroom window

was the thought of you
unbearable did it soothe
the aching pit inside me begging
to see the exact shade in the pigment of