Photo courtesy of Thomas BramwellThose chairs have hearts
see? she points for him across
newspapers, egg yolks drying on bread
tiny white pitchers of curdled cream.
The sun shines through leaving
grids on the concrete.
We overhear, quietly clasp
hands across our Sunday coffee,
usual blueberry muffins, crumbling
next to pools of melting butter.
Your eyes jump into mine
fluttering my belly.
This poem came about after a friend of mine commented that all of my poetry was sad. This is my attempt at not being so sad. The photo was taken by my friend Tom, an amazing photographer and a good guy. Expect to see more of his work through the month - writing about photos is helpful when you're trying to post one a day.
Rather romantic. I'm glad to see that you are not bitter after our conversation yesterday. I'm afraid I am, but just a little bit. J
ReplyDeleteI totally agree! I've had good luck writing about photos too.
ReplyDeleteJoel - Bitterness comes and goes for me. I think this weekend has been decidedly bitter-free.
ReplyDeleteHi Charles - thanks so much for stopping by - I got the idea from poets.org website yesterday when I was struggling for something to write about. Luckily my friend Tom has great photography to choose from, and he doesn't mind me using it!