January 9, 2009

Why Not Summer?

January. The afternoon stretches
longer now; a powder blue light seeps
in the window. We drink tea; it refreshes.

Dusk settles in. Now one among us weeps.
We talk of fathers: one stirs up rages,
the other finds lost dimes, and laughs, and leaps

to hand you bread, some wine, and pears, pages
of notes he’s kept for you. He still has you
laughing, but you think of summer, its hazes,

the yard, where pears hang low, a fleck of blue
through bobbing branches. He’s out of guesses
now. Says, “Life’s a peek-a-boo.”

We hold our cooling cups. Darkness presses.
Our talk belies our loves, our emptinesses.

(from We Tempt Our Luck, finalist in Astounding Beauty Ruffian Press Chapbook Contest) 

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