the girl who talked to the dead
sat on a stool by the window
sipping a latte, acting just like
any other grown up she knew
the ones who could
afford $2.50 for a cup of Joe
on a cold January morning.
i knew her from the tilt of her head,
that lived in her eyes.
sleep held her hostage
on those nights
when the barometer fell
when night stretched
thin piercing holes
into the late afternoon.
she felt young to me.
what does someone so young know
about death anyway.
there are no text books for this class.
you either have it or you don't.
she blew the heat from the edge of her cup
i knew coffee, but not her love of it
it felt like history
tasted of the dirt under her feet
thick and full
steam hit my face
enveloped me in scent
i had forgotten
she was there to take me home
that is what the steam said
and the smile in her eyes.
copyright/all rights reserved 2018 Audrey Howitt
Posted for D'verse and for Poets United