Let it cool

Both palms on the concrete. No hand on the latch. Let it cool. Let it cool. Let it cool. I shaped a cup the way you like it. Heavy base. Room for tea. My thumb below the handle, where your hand would never see. If it survives, I can leave it where you work, and let the cup say what I have not said. The rule above the switch says: Heat leaves slowly. Keep the door shut. My fingers hover. I give the dark these words. Let it cool. Let it cool. Heat will leave when heat can go. Hands away from the door. You do not have to know. Let it cool. Let it cool. Morning will come on its own. The glaze speaks once behind the brick. I picture one white line. I picture your building. The cup inside my coat. You would turn it in your hands and wait for the truth. No curve I shape, no color I choose, can do that work. Let it cool. Let it cool. Heat will leave when heat can go. Hands away from the door. The cup cannot speak for you. Let it cool. Let it cool. The cup cannot speak for me. After Mother's funeral, you said grief was not a race. I said, “I stayed. I did the hard things. You came to take your place.” You took your coat. You left the stool. I kept waiting for your apology so I would not hear my own. No cup can carry this. In the morning, I will come empty-handed. I will tell you: I was cruel. Let me cool. Let me cool. Anger can leave when I let go. My hand away from the door. I do not have to know. Let it cool. Let it cool. Morning will come on its own. Let it cool. My hand comes down beside me. The latch stays where it is. Let it cool.