Instead
Here
I am here.
...a small weathered grey stone in the middle of an ecru cube
I am, as if woven with willowy white by spider to this chair
shedding my last skins
molting, melting, swelling, crusting over
a dampened facade of makeup…
and hidden band aids
and instead of drinking
Coffee
in the cafés of Berlin...where a handsome stranger leans over
and kisses my hand
stares long into my un-wedded blue eyes
I flush and blush
17 again
an irresistible bowl of fruited ambrosia
but here, at my faux wooden desk…
with my green porcelain pear vase …sprouting fragile pale cream roots
facing a blank wall
my roots …are grey and silver
I am more a dried apple
in a pantry drawer…listening for foot falls
than a place where red flags dance
nostrils fill with rich beaned aromas
I am here ...instead of drinking coffee in the cafés of Berlin
Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift | Year Posted 2016
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