Marrow

She tucked the corners in tightly.
She smoothed her skirt.
She glanced just briefly at the face
she had come to like in the mirror.
She went down to the kitchen.
She peeled the potatoes.
She swore she would leave him
if she found another receipt from
that fancy restaurant on Memorial.
That one with the spinning lounge
and the piano bar. She swore she
would confront him,
ask him all about her, ask her name,
ask what it was that compelled him.
She set the oven.
She wrote out the place cards.
She smiled as the guests arrived.
She poured their drinks and gave them
tiny straws. She wrapped her arm in his.
At the end of the night
she ran a razor down her slender wrists
and she bled out all over the
freshly bleached bathroom floor.
She left a note.
She wrote in black ink,
You did this.