Domesticity” - Kat Mullins

Domesticity Kat Mullins ‘20

3XVK\RXUÀQJHUVDJDLQVWWKHLQVLGHRIP\FKHHNV Tongue to palm and the taste of metal. If you pull hard enough you will catch my lungs. 7KH\FRPHRXWÁDSSLQJZHWO\DJDLQVWWKHFHUDPLFWLOHV 'HÁDWHGVDFVWZLWFKLQJOLNHHOHFWURFXWHGÀVK The caulking between the tiles used to be white Before the meal making silt, the coffee grounds, 5\HÁRZHUDQGPRODVVHVEHGGHGGRZQLQWKHVKDOORZJXOOLHV Now our kitchen counter is a city plan from space. The blocks allocated neatly by the asphalt highways. I am renaming this counter in honor of its architect. I will call her: Aesthetically Minimalist God And lovingly wipe her down with a new sponge and 409. Only the best for my home town. Every night you ask what’s for dinner. I unhinge my jaw and use the salad tongs To extract my lower left molars, Wipe my chin with a damp towel And place the teeth in the corner of a tile. Look, honey, look at what I built today, But you are hungry. Not the right eye, I ask, I need the right eye so when I slip out of bed At three a.m. and press my sweating head against The cool white counter I can see the shadowy skyline Of my city with the faint halo of microwave light. The fridge hums; a storm is brewing in the freezer. 7KHÀUVWFKXUFKKDVEHHQHUHFWHG7KHFUXVWHG Root of my tooth pierces the stale air. You say you’ll save the eye for later, Lean for a kiss and eat my tongue instead.