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