you made poor man’s cobbler i asked an easy recipe you said –sugar
blackberries flour self rising butter unsalted milk extract vanilla home–
a bowl your hands strained from fruit like daddy’s that steel mill somewhere
north our late night sweetness brought your humming close to me on that
soft note extended i heard the gravel crack of daddy’s van ahead of aura arced
headlights cut the space of the here and now i savored the delicacy of your
labor i missed the kiss that must have come after – leftover hours before
Dawn Rogers Stahura is a poet and artist from Salem, Massachusetts. Her work has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and appears in such journals as The Comstock Review, Rhino, Rogue Agent, Plexus, and Ballast Journal. Dawn serves as the Managing Editor and Poetry Editor of Soundings East. Find her at www.dawnstahura.com