Kissing the Cup                                                                                                   —Barbara Daniels

I name the cat Eurydice.
The spider in the corner—
call it Hunger. I link each

finger to a decade, place a ring
on the new year coming—index
year. That finger points

onward. I keep a man
upstairs in the bed. Or here
on the couch reading.

His hands have touched
every dish and pan
in the kitchen. To kiss

a cup is to kiss him. Omelets
he makes could be savored
in paradise. So far he’s

sleeping. Snow comes
with its typical speechlessness.
We’ll go to the doctor soon,

the one with the possible
miracle, sky blank
as new paper. I look up

what real means: guileless,
immovable, serious, true.
I won’t ask about Orpheus

walking the malls, strumming
his blue guitar, searching
the stores for love.

Barbara Daniels

Barbara Daniels’ book Rose Fever: Poems was published by WordTech Press and her chapbooks Black Sails, Quinn & Marie, and Moon Kitchen by Casa de Cinco Hermanas Press. Her poetry has appeared in Prairie SchoonerWomenArtsMid-American Review, The Literary Review, and many other journals. She received three Individual Artist Fellowships from the New Jersey State Council on the Arts.

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2016