Creative Voices

By Mariel Gousios/ Matthew staff | Edited by Meredith Brooks

I spilt milk on the floor 

Of our shared room, 

The liquid seeping into the carpet 

And drawing a line down 

The middle. I rushed to pick it up but it fell through 

The gaps in my fingers, one drip at a time. 

You pushed my hands down gently and said it was okay. 

You would fill up my cup with a carton of your own, 

I took my lone glass cup and  

Tried to fill it up with whatever drops you could spare, 

But your carton was empty too. 

Your eyes stared down, forcing shame onto me. 

Then you left.  

You slithered away to fill your carton back up 

I sat, sitting next to the lake of milk. 

All I hear is you slam  

The door.