Garlic

She couldn't work it, the smell
Staining the underbellies of her nails
But never bringing tears to her eyes-
Whittling its albino skin to the finest strips
With the flick of a knife off her wrists
She could put the taste back
Into anything. The blind is down,
On a table still laid for two

The kitchen spits and snarls but doesn't breathe
Not a word of what creeps into the oil
And finally she tastes what lingers under her nails
That smell she never knew how to work
Fills her head now he's gone
Feeling the tears sting the lids where she hides