APOSTROPHE AT THE WHATELY DINER, poem by Joshua Michael Stewart

The waitress has a hummingbird

tattoo behind her ear. She sings

Volare, over the clanking and clatter.

I sit in a booth next to a window.

I let the sun warm my hands

as I wait for my soup and bread.

This morning I found a nest

of your hair in the upstairs drain.

I scooped it out with a wad

of tissue and flushed it down

the toilet. It's still your bathroom,

your curlers unmoved, my shaver

in the bath near the kitchen. How long

will you keep up with this haunting?

You're the one I wish I could tell,

even if it would break your heart,

that my waitress has eyes so icy

blue they seem silver. Looking

into them is to watch the dawn

break through a forest in winter.

 

Joshua Michael Stewart has had poems published in Massachusetts Review, Euphony, Rattle, Cold Mountain Review, William and Mary Review, Pedestal Magazine, Evansville Review and Blueline. Pudding House Publications published his chapbook Vintage Gray in 2007. Finishing Line Press will publish his next chapbook Sink Your Teeth into the Light in 2012 He lives in Ware, Massachusetts. Visit him at www.joshuamichaelstewart.yolasite.com