Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Salute
Winter weary
I wait in line
boot slush seeping
into the industrial carpet.
Pearl earrings, cardigan
quick and efficient
Martha is my teller.
Never chatty
today she speaks.
"My cat died last night."
I stutter over a so-sorry
as she slides my receipt
gestures for the next in line.
Unsettled
this slice of sorrow stays with me
throughout the day.
I picture empty spaces
altered routines
gone grazing the tongue.
What have I to offer
other than this ...
recognition
of a fellow soldier.
Bridget Harwell
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Very lovely, Bridget, just like you! :) "Gone grazing the tongue" has a nice duality to it, sounding like what cats do all day when they clean themselves! Thanks for sharing.
Thank you e.
Very nice.
Thanks, Amy.
Post a Comment