20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

Untitled

3 Comments

If I had married a poet
he would sing me to sleep with simile,
march into morning with metaphor,
brew the coffee, set the table,

a woven placemat for him,
a green one with lilies for me.
The white porcelain teapot, steaming

with water for my cup, two sugars, a slice of lemon,
and his strong coffee, black, no sweetness
except for the flavor of him
across the table.

We look, see much more,
speak, don’t speak.
The air is charged.
But,

he is not a poet.
He listens to my words,
understands my simile, my metaphor.
We have combined

our differences.
He is morning. I am night,
I the moon and he the sun
who has become my poet.

About these ads

Author: Maggie

I am a retired language arts teacher from the Midwest who has published a book of poems. I write poetry in the classic forms. My reading interests are non-fiction, especially in the areas of medicine and spirituality. I am a pianist, and also enjoy word puzzles and games.

3 thoughts on “Untitled

  1. I just love a poem like this. It’s simple and interesting.. :)

  2. This is what love is, Maggie.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,650 other followers

%d bloggers like this: