Thursday, May 9, 2013

Lang Syne

Ascending heavy 
stairs this morning, Kate
and I started lifting
switches to dispel the hazy 
still-life of the empty kitchen.

Soon, the sweet humid 
fumes of last night's cooking 
oil—still clinging to the thick taupe
drapes and glazing 
the slumped hardwood—started mingling
with today's fresh promise 

of husky coffee brewing—impressing 
with their airy fading
kiss of former tastes (neither frivolous 
nor significant now) a timely 

reminder—of no past
but the one our present makes;
and no present that isn't wholly
invited by this space.