Issue 30 • January 2020

Art & Lit

Art & Lit

Tea Cup

Kendall Sommers, NMH

 

I lift my head from the pillow where he sleeps.

I braid my hair as his tea steeps.

Sitting on the edge of our bed, I look at his closed eyes.

His lips are cracked, tired from telling lies.

Telling me that he’d be back, as he left.

As I sat at home, knowing his fingers with touching flesh.

Now his tea is warm.

I wake him and he dresses, moving like a perfect storm.

We sit at the counter, he brings the tea to his lips.

The creases filled, as he sips. 

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