Burnt Toast

By Rina Palumbo

Photo by Rina Palumbo

I lifted the lid on the tub of Land O Lakes and found, once again, black/brown/golden crumbs from the knife you used to scrape your toast, and to butter your toast, as a matter of efficiency. I stuck out my tongue, curled the tip to lick slowly, the black/brown/golden crumbs left from your knife, lick away at the variations of hardness, gradations of acridity, my tongue tasted all of it, leaving only the uniformly yellow, semi-soft compressed oils blended with real butter. You caught me one morning. No words, just a surprised/disgusted/distempered stare framing pursed, bloodless lips. The next day, a new tub of Land O Lakes was on a shelf in the refrigerator. I flipped open the bright green plastic lid and started down at the silver foil, untouched, unopened, cold, then coldest. I replaced it, colder still.

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Rina Palumbo (she/her) is working on a novel and two long-form nonfiction projects, alongside short fiction, creative nonfiction, and prose poetry. Her work appears in The Hopkins Review, Ghost Parachute, Milk Candy, Bending Genres, Identity Theory, Stonecoast Review, et al. https://rinapalumbowriter.com