Fields of Poetry

I don't know how to love him
What to do, how to move him
I've been changed. Yes, really changed
In these past few days when I've seen myself
I seem like someone else . . .

Friday, January 2, 2009

The Tea Cup

The tea cup, brown with little green maple leaves

and sprinkles of gold

imprinted around it;

this tea cup that you bought for me,

I held it lovingly in my hands,

thinking of you soaring in the scarlet sky.

It cracked.

The hot water spilling --

burning my skin.

And my heart, it weeps

as I wiped the table clean.

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