Published in MindKites Fall 2000 Issue
Hail & Chicken Salad
On this day of white bread and chicken salad
the roof beat by hail
the hail punishing the quiet
we eat so alone and hungry.
We sit like children as the
hail beats our ears
and our thoughts and space.
The room is loud with hail,
you say. And you, serious you,
with your pager and cell phone
on my round table, slick black
on ivory lace. I drink you in
between mouthful of things left unsaid.
© Tasha 2000
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