The bowl that came to our table
Overflowed with penne and pulverized tomatoes.
You split it evenly, gave me
Far too much, saying
Take all the olives,
I remember you like olives.
This is what you are able to share with me now:
Not your life, or your body,
But pasta, and occasional thoughts, like parsley flakes
Sprinkled sparingly, haphazardly,
Across the surface of a bowl.