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Your Resin Taints Everything by Karen Tardiff

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Your Resin Taints Everything

Your resin taints everything.

It started out in small things,
a little smudge on your shirt
and I had to rewash everything
after I had thoroughly scrubbed
every piece of clothing with alcohol.

Your resin taints everything.

I am always Santa, buying presents
to surprise everyone, myself included,
on Christmas morning. Last year I
was surprised when I bought myself
a new set of dishtowels, white with
green stripes and promise. By
New Year’s Eve half were ruined
with black splotches and thrown out.

Your resin taints everything.

I used to buy dish sponges in
the three pack. I wash your
plate from beside the couch
and suddenly I’m assaulted by
the smell of tar, depression, and
disappointment, knowing I should
have bought the 8 pack instead.

Your resin taints everything.

I like a clean house, though
you wouldn’t know from the
looks of things sometimes.
I splurged on a nice mop
with a large surface perfect
for scrubbing up after a
family, but I can’t afford
the replacement heads, so
it sits in the corner; now I
buy mops from the dollar store.

Your resin taints everything.

I know you’ve been driving my
car when I open the door, and
I am thankful I had the foresight
to buy a bottle of alcohol. I don’t
even like to ride in your truck
anymore, no longer riding shotgun.

Your resin taints everything.

You are convinced when
any one comes over they
are looking for your resin
and you swear you had more
before they came over, even
though you were watching
them the entire time.

Your resin taints everything.

Even as I’m writing this I
take a drink of the hot
tea I just made and I can
taste your bitter resin
sitting in the bottom of the
mug waiting for me to swallow.


Karen Tardiff is the Editor-in-Chief of Gnashing Teeth Publishing.

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