by Janet Butler
The room is half-shuttered against the light
bright at noon. Heat, an unwanted arm
drapes, a dead weight, over my shoulders.
The clatter of footsteps, rhythmic beat
to bubbles of conversation, drifts up.
They rise and float and burst before me,
sudden intimacy that fades in
echoes bouncing down the drowsy street.
~~~~~
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Author Bio
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| Janet Butler relocated to the Bay Area in 2005 after many years in central Italy… More > |