12.30.2017

Cuffing Season

Though the cold spell's
frozen birds to power lines outside
Hector feels the sun
on his shoulders and his neck
as he gently flips eggs
on a morning.
The rest of him
is chilled
by the shade
in his apartment
but where the rays land
he's warm.

There's got to be a word
for this, he thinks.
There probably is
in Spanish
though his grandmother's
long dead.

From the bedroom
behind him
Hector hears
the tossing and straightening
of sheets.

He scoops the better eggs
onto a plate
for Rose of No Man's Land
or the most convincing facsimile.
In his dreams
they all forgive him.

You're either here
or you're wrong.


Currently reading:
"Jubilat" (Volume 31).

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