Reconciliation

Your back porch
reminds me of the Cure.
Of schoolyards in autumn
with chain link fences
one ancient cottonwood.

A washed-out sky
as seen from your back porch
from garage sale chairs
on softened astro-turf.
Coffee steams, rising
from mismatched china.

Light breeze moves your thoughts
and my washed-out hair
a home dye-job
indicates some recovery.
You hold my hand,
and keep things simple.
That is the Cure.


Celeste Côté; March 23rd 2002

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