The Ancient Modern

Etc., Missing You  /  Joshua Alan Sturgill         

Years later, still in Ohio at the café, 
hand like a hummingbird moth 
hovering over the paper, I’m writing

a letter filled with humorous news, 
observations of fellow café patrons, 
poetic descriptions of us now — now 

that I know your bed, now that you 
know mine.  I finish again that last 
sentence: until, etc., today, etc.,

missing you.  Nothing out of place
in the café; its red seats, its blue sky.  
I address the envelope, placing it 

carefully in a book — a novel I am 
always putting down to write to you 
and picking up to hide your letter in.  

My thousands of paragraphs 
follow you like flocks of shadows,
green shadows of Ohio afternoons


All poetry and supplementary material: copyright 2021 by Joshua Alan Sturgill. All rights reserved.

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