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Coffee and More…

It’s poetry month, you know. I don’t think a day passes by that I don’t read poetry, so highlighting April and calling it “National Poetry Month” would be like highlighting December and calling it Winter. The wonderful thing about April and poetry coinciding is this: the words for the soul offset the agony of the IRS. Okay, so that’s not true at all. But poetry does do its office. This morning, I discovered this gem from Indianapolis native, Allyson Horton, whose work is featured at Indiana Humanities this month:

Smelling the Coffee  

His eyes refused to water. His heart dead

at the roots, stubborn like his father, cold

& gone now.  The men in his family head

households of slow-brewed women: coffee bold

black like the cup he orders with no room

for cream or sugar to cloud bittersweet

memories of a mother masking gloom,

who saw the mug half-empty, incomplete

lying next to a husband dodging touch

while watching Monday night football, losing

sight of all the fumbles slipped through his clutch.

But Val was not his mother—torn choosing

her man’s sole happiness over her own.

Val was a woman of raw skin, teeth, bone.

 by Allyson Horton

Isn’t that a beauty?

My thanks and admiration to Ms. Horton, whose way with words delights me during this ‘national poetry month,’ otherwise known as a Spring Wednesday…

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