Articles,, Poem, Poems

French Toast

For context, I asked a friend of mine to give me a poem topic and they said “French Toast”. I didn’t want to just write about French Toast so this is what I came up with:

(This is a fictional poem)


I don’t remember things in full

It’s easier to absorb the little waves than drown in the sea

I couldn’t tell you when we stopped going out,

or when our conversations became more like chores.

I couldn’t tell you when I love you lost its meaning

or when our hands became too cold to embrace

But I remember the weather.

I remember it was sunny,

and the cold from the previous night laid a blanket of frost on the ground.

You were dressed to leave,

it wasn’t unusual for you to be dressed, but

it was your eyes– cut with clarity– that gave it away.

I didn’t stop you, I just dipped bread in beaten eggs.

Your black shirt felt symbolic of mourning,

but our funeral would have no witnesses.

Your shoes were old, but they left no mark when you stepped out of the door.

I couldn’t process what happened,

so instead I sat down, said a blessing, and ate French Toast.

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