Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Lucy Alexander #87 Black Coffee

My mother turned away
when I tried to sing

her eyes went down sideways
when I spoke about love.

She let me cry and try to play
on her piano when my ribs cracked

letting in inky thickness;
my hands trembling there

over the keys knowing that one wrong strike
would shave another hour from her life

she would sigh and stir her black coffee
laced with sugar and ice

tinking her spoon across the cup’s edges
wondering if there was any music

that would heal her, or if there was
any hope for me at all.

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