sitting at the table <br />sipping water <br />watching the fan <br />revolving in the gold rim <br />of the Chinese plate <br />on the shelf <br /> <br />Shostakovich <br />playing on the radio <br />aching with sweetness <br />and you working in the kitchen <br />all Chekovian anguish gone <br /> <br />the light is golden <br />the air is still<br /><br />Alison Cassidy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-aftermath-8/
