May of this year.
And she's 33, I found out. But well.
Awake
It will not be a celestial spirit
who coaxes song out of this moment,
but a harried doughnut-shop worker,
thirty, petite, & in quick sneakers,
alone to deal with early customers,
the several crack-of-dawn regulars,
& the light of quarter past five
caressing the rust-red surface of tables
where early risers caffeinate & greet
the morning, trafficking herself awake.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
Read 97 times
Written on 2024-08-15 at 08:39
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