workload

i came back to my body,
still impervious
numb and wanting.
claire's face became real
and my arms suddenly heavy
with trays and cups
and sodden napkins.
sugar remnants scattered
around the plates.
turn back the clock to thirty-six
hours ago, when solemnly
you pursed your lips at i
sketching carefully
with reddened, callused hands
(mishandling the milk-frother,
or else a seemingly innocent dish)
observation, well observe
the coffee grinds that nestle beneath round,
creamy fingernails.
cut to the quick.