Reading
his words
Had
to take a break
Make
some instant coffee
Coffee
too hot to drink
Cooling
next to me
I
intend no disrespect
His
poetry slaps me in the face
Like
cold water
Like
cool death
My
mother’s hands were cold when I touched them
Her
friends wanted to pull the sheet over her face
Hospice
worker came in and said we don’t like to hide death and I agree with her
Covering
my mother’s face wasn’t out of respect, but instead was a way, I guess, for her
friends to try and pretend she wasn’t gone
I
pulled the white sheet back down and looked at my mom in all her beauty and grace
She
was like a chain link fence feeling the sun on her autumnal cheeks for the
first time
Studying
Michael’s words
Looked
up Cherie Bullock
Read
and very much enjoyed her poem “Carbon Dated”
Michael
Grover I desire to sit in a tiny room with you, both of us writing what we
believe is the next great American novel
Fuck
I’m not a novelist and I’m guessing neither are you
The
space heater lashes out at us with forked tongue and Grimm eyebrows
Charles Cicirella
10/27/17
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