Proverbial Eggshells

I’m peeling hard boiled eggs at the sink,
my soft round belly pressed against the cool steel
cold water splashing over fingers
when I remember that noise he used to make

that noise that said I was using too much water

or talking too loudly

that I had applied too much perfume
used too much lip gloss

that there was too much food on my plate
that I’d gained too much weight

that I took too long to find pleasure in things
he was already, past tense, done with

it was a noise, a grimace, a groan of
displeasure, distaste, distain

that seeps, sometimes, from a faucet
running hard and with great abandon,
cascades through my fingers
down the drain with dregs

those chips
and flecks

of a something

thankfully

passed