To My Wife, My Love, Who Brought Home Lite Mayo (Cantos, 2019)

It’s the little things, you say,
and you draw me to you,
touch our once-straight edges,
You press your ear to my heart,
which has had its episodes.
You lead me to the nursery, where
our son snores under soft crochet.
And you tell me you love me,
that we vowed old age.

But when I slice the cap off a ripe heirloom
and leave a tender trail of red with
each gushing stroke on worn butcher block,
I cannot help but think we deserve
everything in its fullest.
Let this be my apology, then,
for the thick layers I will paint on
this bread and on the walls of our hearts.