The real test of love happens afterward,
the spin cycle over, plates rinsed,
the dish towel threaded through the door.
It happens when you’ve picked his best suit,
shined his shoes and had the right rouge
applied—so it seems he’s aged
without any kind of pock or blemish.
Belief in your own mythology—
the apartments, the toasters, and the mixers.
Mismatched silverware and such.
Will it lead a man back? Will he come
when all the roads lay open?
Will he settle for the dusty light that shines
through all those kitchen windows?
Sjohnna McCray has had poems published in various literary journals, including Willow Springs, The Black Warrior Review, Shenandoah, The Greensboro Review, Callaloo, Evergreen Review, African American Review, and Brilliant Corners. She teaches at Truman College in Chicago.