I’m in bed. My grandma’s made me potato soup to get my mind off this boy who’s dumped me. She brings it to me on a tray, along with a crust of Italian bread. She says when I was a baby and teething, she’d give me the end piece of bread. I’d gnaw on it till it was mush and forget about the pain. Like that’s going to work now. I look at the phone. Don’t call him, she says. Then she spoon feeds me potato soup and soggy bread bits. Like I’m still a baby. And I let her.
Roberta Beary divides their time between the USA and Ireland. They identify as gender fluid and are partial to corgis, blended families, and Broadway musicals. Visit their website www.robertabeary.com and @shortpoemz on Twitter.