Two poems by Deborah Alma
Morning Song An open-windowed church-belled morning chimes of loss and mine; water pipes sing, and I bring back to bed a blue enamel pot of hot coffee, as silk as the slide of skin on sheets, and rough hot bread warmed in an oven kept in overnight and bite into a grape and lazy eyed the women I have been no longer fight … Continue reading Two poems by Deborah Alma