Wednesday, April 30, 2008

A Passing Bitterness in the Cafe

By: K. Jan Harvey

And who was she?
Asking me about my clothes,
She layed the muffins out in rows
And fingered each,
A cotton cloth to teach the counters clean;
She was not hungry, yet she made a scene
About the muffins
In their rows, and me in mine,
Where I could see the counter shine,
And she could dare
To wonder what I wear.
And she could look
To see which one I took.

A Walk Home, When She Must Be Sleeping

By: K. Jan Harvey

The brown leaves conceal the street
Like hair on a flannel shirt.

The town leaves the cats at night to play,
But I hear the leaves they tantilize
And toy with those thoughts.

The brown leaves smell like she was sleeping
After eating apples;
As the fall follows me home.
Still, there is time for you and I sharing apples
When the cats with hairless eyes
Make footsteps out of caskets
And I pause my walking to let them.