a rim of sorrow
circles my cup
my mouth hesitates there
unhappy with the words
that have come of late
unhappy with the way time has caught us
pinioned by our separate desires
miserable and weeping in our tea
is this the song we sing then
a song of parting
nettled with despair
or will we continue sitting
brittle and blank as new eggs
buttering our toast
swallowing in grim gulps
sipping at our tea
my fortune eludes me
there are no leaves to read
within my cup
Published in:
Voices International (winter 1982)