"Valentine's Day does nothing for me"
The chatter is inevitable, the clacking of jaws—
the girls hold their mugs of coffee by the cupful.
Their need is desperate; I've yet to learn
how to panhandle desire, holding up a cup—full
of solitude—to catch some last coin or opportunity
lost. Outside, children play in snow cupping full,
firm chunks leaving the rest to fall from the gratings of fire
escapes.
There was a time when all this would remind me of you but I cope,
I fold
my hands. Once, you talked. I listened and we drank hot,
black coffee from a thermos until our cups that had been full,
stopped scorching our palms. Blood can't be thicker than wine,
you say; there must be ways to take me in by the cupful.
But words failed—the need was there for me to crack
beneath a rib to find some part of you I could recall. It is too hard
to find the vessel empty; it is a full cup.
