some mornings, I
am quiet
snow cascading over the
ramen noodles
the kid smashed on
the back deck
I am the chipped
mug
full of creamy coffee
held
in two hands while
I
speak in cat voice to the
only creatures who don’t
roll
their eyes when I
am a hot
mess
most nights I
am
whiskey sliding
down your
throat, smoke in your
eyes, a wild
tiger lily waiting
to be plucked, the
queen of cups, devoted
like an addict
©
1.29.2019 heather brager
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