Monday, July 26, 2010

barista deja vu

my touch rattles the cup
in its saucer, spills
coffee & tea
caffeine's restless habits,
a mug resting against my teeth
preventing the warmth
a way to still my hands,
slow everything down.
today is a day built
for bad news, the skies
cloud-hung and sullen
the color of coffee-stained
dishwater, and your eyes,
murky and solemn.
i don't even know what you're asking,
but want no part of it.
i have enough,
in my life, building
to a head.
i strain the tea and sip.
steam obscures my glasses
and i have to ask:
how many times will i stand here,
hands shaking,
waiting for you?

Saturday, July 17, 2010

far away

he says,
sometimes i get so jealous of
that pillow you hold so tightly
while you're sleeping -
the way you grip it, and i
have no way of knowing what
you think -

when i'm thinking too heavily,
too late into the night,
and i clutch my pillow so as
not to wake you with my
tossing in bed, or when i finally
lay down, and you're curled too awkwardly
to get an arm around - the times
when i wonder what you dream about,
when you hold your pillow tightly
to your chest and sigh