Treesap – Lois E. Linkens

My piece ‘Treesap’ on FVR today:


‘A measure of Bailey’s,’ and the blue-haired

Barmaid smiles, as steam rushes from the coffee

Machine. Eyes stare back, small glasses squared

And neck fluffed under the swirled bun, sticky

Like a grey Danish, left from clipping dry

On evenings with the clippers and beauty

Compact in the bathroom mirror; dried cacti

On the windowsill. At that bar, I’ll see

Your soul rising with the steam. Sweet and high,

And the ring it left like an eclipse would

Not come off, though I baking-soda-tried.

We stopped scrubbing and drank snowballs outside

In the bright, green garden full of driftwood.

With amber necks like maple tears, we sigh.

Lois E. Linkens

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