we have chocolate cake for coffee
in a kitchen, smelling orange with a fading season &
i know your legs hurt when you move but–
you’re too busy to complain.
instead you smile and tell me,
tim stopped by last week &
you made pancakes for priscilla.
i never talk much when i’m here,
maybe because my world seems complicated
or maybe just to give you space
to tell me of the things that matter.
when i leave,
your week hangs on my cheeks
& in discarded kitchen corners,
sizzles on the 40 year old stove
(why should you buy a new one– it’s still working)
and creeps across the journals, stacked neatly on the corner seat.
a thin thread leads me into autumn,
between chocolate cake and warmth,
i’m tracing my fragility–
& the leaves pile high as i change lanes
my mom was already 40 when i was born…so she’s 83 now, lives next town and i usually visit her on saturdays for a cup of coffee and a chat..
it’s my great pleasure to tend the dVerse bar tonight…doors open at 3pm EST for a poetry party on the open mic..would be cool to see you there..