In the morning, I pour my hope for the day
Into a cold cup of fear.
I add cream to mask the bitterness
Until clouds pillow up in my cup changing it
Into a softer, more tolerable brew.
I commune with it for a minute or two,
Until I leave it on a shelf or bureau
And forget about it...
Only to return in the evening to discover it,
Waiting with memories dried to the rim
Where my lips had been.
A mocha star of sapphire winks up at me,
So I hesitate before
I pour my cold, forgotten hope down the drain
And scrub at the ring that doesn't want
To give up it's position stuck orbiting
Halfway to the top.
No comments:
Post a Comment