Cup of pleasure wafts
aromatic steam warming my
lips pursed for a sip.
Earl Grey
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Cup of pleasure wafts
aromatic steam warming my
lips pursed for a sip.
California burns.
Your life separate from us?
Now just smoke and ash.
We visited once.
Soaked in your hot tub under
the lemon tree’s shade.
Spring Valley is bone
dry. Here in New York skies rain
tears of compassion.
What’s necessary?
The triage of memory.
A pyre to the past.
Photos first, then the
baby albums. Love letters.
We can buy new clothes.
Her view from the hill
– once so fine in good weather –
just blackened landscapes.
Anne emails to say
smoke plumes rise like shrouds of loss.
Below, hell ablaze.
In bad rains bathroom
ceiling leaks. A slow tick tells
of water stains mapped.
Writing about rape.
Prostitution. Injustice.
Happy talkie talk.