Shrill Sweet Sadness

The teapot whistling on the stove reminded him of what had been in settled domesticity when they were only twenty-three. The baby crying in the crib the teapot whistling on the stove the way her apron hugged her hips the sparks that flew between their lips creating scenes of bliss and strife. And when she ceased to be his wife the teapot whistling on the stove was silenced, packed and stored away in hopes of coming better days with someone who would understand the poignant songs brewed deep within the teapot whistling on the stove.