Poetry - Self

Epicenter

One minute
we were sitting pleasantly
at the dining room table
eating our way
to the breaking point
plates shifting suddenly
falling forks
shuddering spoons.

You were fighting
over the house
the car
the furniture
but not over me.
When the fault split
beneath your chair
it swallowed broken glass
and cigarette butts
and spat me out
on one side of the world
and you
on the other

I never knew who you were.
You were a stranger
with a brown paper bag
wrapped around your Baby Jack
tucked under your seat.
You were cruising
along your fault lines
over cracks and crevices
flicking your cigarette
trying to make conversation
but you were still too far away
to hear me