I grabbed the plastic gallon of milk out of the fridge
jovial and animated, swooping around
gathering the mug and Milano cookies.
My hands still warm from doing the dishes when
the milk sloshed up through the
hollow handle of the carton.
The cold on my palm stopped me.
I looked at my hand, startled by my pause yet
I shook the carton just enough,
watching the milk slosh
the sensation of movement in my hands.
from somewhere behind me, “What are you doing?”
“I don’t exactly know.”