Poems

Breakfast

by Martin Higareda

Come, breakfast trust with me, my darling
you subtle aching priestess, you
strange that I should dream like this
waking stormy agitation and finding you gone--
And what an excellent dish, ambrosia and compassion
We would toast redemption, you and I
perhaps you might have cried--well, then
I would drain my glass serenely, gazing away
with a soft negligent murmur
"I absolve you."

Heartbreaking, really.