Issue #54


I'm Sorry If

I’m sorry if

in the morning,

you wake before I do,

and see the mess

that I left

in the kitchen last night.

While we slept,

head in neck,

hand on hip, I dreamt

that I boarded

a ship to sail

over the moon.

It was blue or,

had been once,

with sails the shade of a ripe persimmon.

It sat so low

that sometimes in

the dense dawn clouds we’d sink

and see the sun,

reflected under

them, onto us.

And then you were there,

and the sun’s early morning glory

could not compare to yours.

But just as we tipped

to drain the clouds

and sail finally from earth

I grew pale,


the great folly of those who’d come before.

I ran below

to confirm my fear

and found it to be true:

not a fresh citrus in sight!

not an orange,

nor lemon, nor lime.

In my fright

I awoke

with a craving for tangerines,

so I’m sorry if

in the morning

you awake before I do

and find the pulp

and the peels and seeds

I left in the sink.

Bumble-Honey Shoes

Close Your Eyes & Picture It

Close Your Eyes & Picture It