Umbriate Press Poetry

I recall how she would hold a cigarette the same way she did her pen. It was as if she were inhaling life then exhaling meaning, both wrapped in the vapor of a clearly distilled but tortured mind. I loved when she would rub her thumb with her ring finger, cigarette or pen delicately balanced between index and middle fingers. But mostly it was her eyes. Mesmerizing was her dark stare, moody and piercing. It put one on guard while at the same time drew you close to her mind. How many sips of tea it used to take to weigh the priceless artifacts of her words I shall never know.

One day, moved by her lips touching the rim of her teacup, I wrote her this poem:

You bring me sudden joy

Erased in moments of

Deep pain reflecting on

The value of pure and

Lasting sadness.  

The poem remains unsent.