Night of Day


Night of Day

Night of Day
Thumbs circle a rim of china –

small, slender hands hold a cup –

she gently lifts it from her table
in search of
pink painted lips.

Visitors watch with amazement –
as she slowly moves
in night of day.

They talk to themselves –
“I am glad she will never know
how people stare,”

She takes another sip of coffee,
feeling for the sugar –
begins to touch her cup, then
slowly adds sugar and stirs her
coffee as she smiles
at my voice –

replaced her spoon on a napkin,
she asks, “Please pass the milk?”

Another friend comments on
roses placed on her kitchen table –
sweetbreads cooling –
a photograph – taken years ago.

I smell the roses every day,
cut more for tomorrow –
I taste fresh-baked bread –
I feel a  face – touching his photograph –
remembering what life used to be.

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Angie's Diary