I HADN’T PREPARED

I hadn’t prepared
for how this might happen,
had only thought it should,
had only wanted it to.

I hadn’t prepared
for what it would mean
if you touched me
and did not leave.

I hadn’t prepared
for how it might be
to stay,
you with me,
me with you,
certainly not the two
of us together.

I hadn’t prepared
for what existed
beyond filtered dreams,
for the texture
and taste of reality.

I hadn’t prepared
the bread board,
put out the flour,
the sifter, the rolling pin,
the empty bowl to be filled,
the scattered powder
on splintered wood,
fingers in the dough,
our dinner sprinkled
in my hair.