Things done I wish I could undo

that we hadn’t gone to the market that morning for the butter nut squash
I was to cook with coconut and brown sugar or the watermelon,
small and seedless, your favorite, and those damn red delicious apples

that you hadn’t fixed the wobbly kitchen table my kids and I
abandoned months ago - when I’d cut their pork chops
I thought it would just collapse right there on the sleeping cat underneath

that I hadn’t bought you a toothbrush, the green one that stands diagnal
leaning up against mine, orange and worn because of my obsession
with teeth, yours sharp and noticeable, mine brushed countless times a day

that you hadn’t done that one load of laundry for me while I was at work
the one with the bathroom rugs that I should wash more often, the mint
green one that when freshly washed shows footprints by the shower

the one with your print, from the last time you were here