On Sunday,

you waved  your shovel in the space between us,

dug a hole for an olive tree and threw dirt all over my feet

as though 

you had never hurled lamps against the wall 

or keys against the front door screen 

or caused me to look at broken petals falling out of my favorite flower pot that  you just smashed 

as though I couldn’t see

as. though. nothing. had.  ever. broken.

like you were waiting for me to 

laugh