That dresser got a cracked mirror that don’t lie right. Show you who you is, plus who you been. I stand in front of it while the kettle holler from the kitchen, sound sharp like it impatient.
Auntie say don’t ignore a singin’ kettle. Same way you don’t ignore a quiet room.
I carry the tea in careful, set it down on the low coffee table—the one everybody prop they feet on but swear they don’t. Couch stretched out like it tired of holdin’ folks together.
I drop down beside it, not on it. Couch earned rest.
Tea steam curl up, foggin’ the mirror a little. That help. I don’t feel like lookin’ myself in the eye today.
“This still chamomile?” I call out.
“Always,” Auntie say from nowhere. “Ain’t gotta be loud to work.”
I sip. Tea gentle, sneak up on you. Furniture creak like it settlin’ around me, lettin’ me be heavy for a minute.
I lean back against the couch, feel it catch me. Mirror quiet. Kettle hush now.
Some days, that enough.
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