Morning milk.

Bitter tea,
out of milk,
we learn to live without,
wanting,
knowing
mostly what flies by
does not want to be caught:
a ladybug, a bat, a hummingbird, a heart, hands,
or that shooting star,
& we learn to love
what we can hold
in this impermeable space
where bitter tea tastes less and less tannic
& the cup warming my hands
is the milk of my morning.

Copyright 2015 © ~ Jessie Wright

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s